


harder to go through with than a vanishing act

by bluestalking, feverbeats



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, OT3, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 109,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestalking/pseuds/bluestalking, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: Eddie is used to bad things. One ex sucks, and the other ex hates them for leaving. Crimes go wrong, stomach goes hungry, and Eddie always has one foot in Arkham. So Eddie expects even worse than usual when they end up in an Arkham cell with Red Hood as their roommate.But what they get is something totally different. Maybe Eddie can be happy. Maybe Jay can be better. Maybe the good parts of the past can come with them after all.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Jason Todd, Edward Nygma/Jason Todd/Jonathan Crane, Jonathan Crane/Harvey Dent/Edward Nygma
Comments: 13
Kudos: 65





	1. In Arkham

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to another feverbeats & bluestalking story about Batmans. At this point I think our versions have almost nothing to do with canon; such is life. 
> 
> !!!!!WARNINGS!!!!!  
> the central plot of this story involves intimate partner violence, including references to many shades of abuse (emotional, sexual, and physical) and on-page verbal and physical violence. Please don't take this warning lightly, it's explicit and prevalent. 
> 
> OTHER WARNINGS -- explicit sex (both healthy and unhealthy), suicidal ideation, offscreen murder, threats & violence, serious (non-graphic) injury

**EDDIE**

The worst thing about Arkham isn't the guards, or the doctors, or even the other inmates. It's the anticipation.

Eddie has a cell to themself for once, which is a fucking miracle. But that doesn't mean they can relax. It just means they have to worry about who's going to get thrown in here next. They're lying on the cot, trying to count tiles in the ceiling, which feels very important, when the door bangs open.

They bolt upright, heart pounding. The two orderlies throw someone into the cell with their usual finesse, but it isn't one of the usual Arkham crew. It's a young man with shaggy dark hair who looks like he put up quite a fight. It isn't until Eddie sees the hood one of the orderlies is holding that they realize who it is.

The door slams shut and a second later Red Hood (sans hood) slams against it, swearing up a storm. He doesn’t even look at Eddie, just pounds on the door shouting like it’s going to do anybody any good.

"Uh, don't waste your energy," Eddie says. "It doesn't open that way." There are a lot of ways it doesn't open. Eddie has tried.

Red Hood spins around on his heels, the soles of his depressing tan Arkham-issue slip-ons grating against the floor. He gives Eddie a mean up and down look and says, “I’m not staying here.”

“You could just tell them that," Eddie says. "And they'll let you go. I'm not sure if you tried that." Red Hood looks wild. Eddie doesn't have a great sense, in this moment, of whether they're likely to get seriously hurt. Red Hood is a mystery. He attacks people on every side of the law.

Red Hood kicks the door so hard the room shakes, and someone yells from another cell, “Knock it off, asshole, or I’ll find you tomorrow!” A guard shouts to quiet down. Red Hood at least takes a minute to glance around the cell and back at Eddie.

“I don’t belong here,” he says.

"Rude," Eddie says lightly. He's right, of course. But plenty of them don't belong here. "Look, if you want to survive here, stop saying that shit. It annoys people. And it doesn't matter."

“I have work to do,” Red Hood says. “I’m busy. I’m in the _middle_ of something. _I can’t be in here._ And not with any of _you_.”

"You _are_ us," Eddie says, needled. "You can't have it both ways. You're not too good to get roughed up by orderlies and felt up by your fellow inmates. Welcome."

Red Hood laughs. “I don’t think most of your fellow inmates would agree,” he says. “That I’m you.”

"So we're starting off a great note," Eddie says, wrapping their arms around their knees. "Fine, you want to be a thug? Be a thug. But everybody knows what you really are." Red Hood will be eaten alive in here, it occurs to Eddie.

“Vengeance,” Red Hood says, and it’s a completely horrifying thing for him to say because Eddie can’t tell if it’s ironic, self-loathing, or completely unconscious. 

"Maybe try a deep breath for now," Eddie suggests. "If I'm sharing a cell with vengeance, I'd rather not have it directed at me."

For a second, Red Hood looks surprised. He also looks young. How old is he? That’s sort of the question, isn’t it. Or, one of them. 

Red Hood says, “Relax, I’m not after you.”

"Then maybe take some advice and don't stand there looking like you're about to tear down the door," Eddie says. "Because trust me, you can't. Here. Come sit?" Taming an angry dog is safer than just waiting for it to bite you.

Red Hood doesn’t sit down, but he does eye the bunks and back up from the door and shuffle a little ways in Eddie’s direction. 

“You don’t know me,” Red Hood says, ludicrously enough.

"Well, some," Eddie says. _So_ many questions. "Could you start with your name? You could be in here a while, and I'm not calling you Red Hood the whole time."

“You don’t have to call me anything,” Red Hood says. So snotty. 

"I'll call you Hood," Eddie says. They're getting the sense that they might not get hit. It has a calming effect.

Red Hood rolls his eyes. “I hate it,” he says. 

"Thanks," Eddie says cheerfully. "You can call me Eddie. That's fine. Welcome to Arkham. It does get worse." Up close, Red Hood is definitely younger than Eddie, which makes sense. Kind of. Who knows, with this sort of thing.

“I’ve been here before,” Red Hood says. “I know it’s _worse._ ” The way he’s standing, he’s standing still, but Eddie can feel the energy pouring out of him. They can feel the way he wants to burst forward, through the door, through a window, fist through anyone who gets in his way. He always felt that way to Eddie, but more so now. 

"You've been here before, yeah," Eddie says conversationally. "You've put a lot of us here before." They wonder how much of that he remembers, and if he cares.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Red Hood says, but Eddie’s not sure he gets what Eddie’s telling him.

"Well, see how you like it," Eddie says. "Me, I get along pretty well with everyone. There are always people willing to trade goods and services." Eddie wishes Red Hood would back up just a little.

“I’m not interested in getting along,” Red Hood says. “I’m interested in getting back to my business. Outside.”

"Your business. Which is?"

“I told you,” Red Hood says. “Vengeance. And justice. I’m sick of Gotham being a shithole where people get away with murder and it’s just the status quo. Nothing ever changes here, but I’m going to change it.”

"You know who you sound like," Eddie says thoughtfully, already sorry as it's coming out of their mouth.

“No, and I don’t care,” Red Hood says.

"Go on," Eddie says, "guess." Oh, they should have stuck to counting ceiling tiles.

Red Hood says, “Do me a favor and kill me before I ever play your dumbass games.”

"You really want to offer that around here?" Eddie says, most to test the reaction they get than anything else.

Red Hood scoffs. “I can take care of myself. In case you haven’t been paying attention.”

"You mean _after_ getting beaten to death," Eddie says.

Whether they want it to be or not, that’s a hit. Red Hood looks down at Eddie with the surprise and dawning pain of someone who’s just been shot. 

Eddie feels guilty for a second, especially once they remember how young Red Hood was at the time. But he's less young now, and he's out menacing the Gotham underworld. Eddie takes the opportunity to press the point. "You can't take care of yourself. Definitely not in here. You don't know how."

“I doubt you’re going to help me,” Red Hood snarls at them.

"I never had anything personal against you," Eddie says quickly. And Red Hood would be such a good ally in here. So much better than he would an enemy.

“Yeah, I’m sure you cried about it,” Red Hood says. He presses his palms together and then snaps them apart, like he’s caught himself at something shameful. Eddie has to remind themself that he’s killed a fair number of people since coming back to Gotham. He’s not an innocent little boy by any means. 

"At the time, I think a lot of us were pretty shocked," Eddie says. "Listen, can we just make a deal? Since we're stuck in here together, we'll watch each other's backs?" It's worth a try.

Red Hood shakes his head, more like he’s confused than like a no. He sits down on the bunk opposite Eddie’s. 

“I don’t know what you think I’m gonna do for you,” he says. It’s kind of the opposite of what Eddie was expecting.

"You're a vengeance-obsessed murder machine," Eddie says. "I want you to stop people from putting their hands on me. And I'll show you the ropes so nobody even thinks of putting their hands on you." Eddie's tricks don't work for them, but they'll work for someone like Red Hood.

“You sure I won’t just draw unwanted attention?” Red Hood says. “I know a lot of people here.”

"There's not really any getting around that," Eddie says. "The best you can do is convince them you hate Batman. I'm guessing that won't be a problem."

Red Hood says, “There’s no problem.”

"Then this is going to be great," Eddie says. "You know. As great as Arkham can be. By the way, don't get any weird ideas about not sleeping. You'll just go crazy. We can take turns sleeping."

“I’m going to be safe with you watching me?” Red Hood asks skeptically. “Never mind. I won’t be here for long.”

"Let's just assume I'm not much of a danger to anyone," Eddie says. It's not always true, but it's a good starting point with an Arkham cellmate. "You know, just in case you _are_ here for long."

“Yeah, well, then I’ll assume you’ll scream if you need something,” Red Hood says. 

"There's a lot of screaming in here, typically," Eddie says cheerfully. Confident that they're _probably_ not going to be strangled in their sleep, they lie back on the cot to keep counting.

Red Hood doesn’t answer that. He actually quiets down. He doesn’t say anything more, even after the guards come around for their middle of the night rounds. It’s a little unnerving. On the plus side, he doesn’t fight anyone, or try to kill Eddie. 

He does, however, ignore Eddie’s advice, and stay awake all night.

**JASON**

Jason is going to lose it in this place. 

It’s been four days, three fights, two scuffles with the guards and one fat lip since they dragged Jason into this shithole. Eddie--the Riddler--really seems like they’re trying their best to keep Jason alive. There’s only so much either of them can do, though. Arkham is full of people who hate Red Hood, and Jason is full of so much heat and smoke that he can only keep from exploding for so long. 

Eddie doesn’t notice. Or at least that’s what they pretend. Every time Jason and Eddie are alone together, the Riddler babbles about all kinds of things and acts like they and Jason might actually be friends. Sometimes they say something menacing about how rough it is in Arkham, but the rough parts, Jason gets. He can get hit pretty hard before he loses a fight, and if anyone wants something he isn’t willing to give, they’ll pay for asking.

The misery, though, that gets to him. Right to the bone.

Jason hasn’t figured out yet what you do in here to feel human. He’s lying on his bunk, waiting for rec time, and counting the scratches someone made in the wall near his head. Eddie is doing whatever Eddie does. It’s not Jason’s business, and the only privacy they have is for Jason to just not ask.

"Hey," Eddie says after a long silence, swinging themself into a crosslegged position. They're almost always staring at the ceiling when they're not talking to Jason. "Exhausting. Anyway, how're you?"

“I’m stuck in here, aren’t I,” Jason says, not turning his head to look directly at Eddie. “Everything I’ve been working for is falling apart, and I’m fucking trapped because no one comes to get people out of jail who don’t exist.”

"Now you're thinking like one of us," Eddie says, like it doesn't worry them at all. "Don't worry, there's always a way out. One way or another."

“Oh, yeah, you sit and wait and hope for the best? I literally don’t exist, smartass. I’m dead on paper.”

It’s a bad idea to say that where anyone else might be able to hear it, but Jason is so cramped and angry and ready to blow that it just comes out of him. He’s been wondering, off and on, if they even have a record of him being here, and if so, how. That’s not a great line of questioning, though, so he tries to push away from it before it becomes a worry. It’s not easy.

"I know," Eddie says quickly. "But if Harvey comes to break me out--which he will--I can get you out, too. Or someone will be sloppy and forget to lock a door. It happens. You're not going to rot in here." They look at Jason from across the tiny cell with an unreadable expression.

Jason snorts. “Oh, yeah, Harvey Dent is gonna be my savior,” he says. “We love one another so much.”

Eddie shrugs. "You could do worse than to make friends with him. Suck it up a little. Sometimes life is just horrible. You know that." They give Jason a questioning look.

“What?” Jason says, irked. “Why are you always looking at me like that? Jeez, I hope he busts you out soon.”

"It's just really hard to look at you and not see your history," Eddie says.

Jason’s jaw clenches. “They don’t teach any manners in here, do they?”

"They do," Eddie says, shoulders tensing a little. "But as you've seen, their methods leave a lot to be desired. Look, I'm trying to tell you I understand why you're not thrilled to be here. Don't take my head off."

Jason wants to take their head off. Jason wants to fight every inch of concrete in this place. 

He says, “I’m not that kid. Okay?”

"Okay," Eddie says. "You're not a kid at all, so good start."

Jason is surprised into a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. I tried hard.”

"You're what, twenty-ish?" Eddie says, for no reason Jason can figure out.

He shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

"Just wondering," Eddie says. "You still look a little young." They pull the thin blanket around themself.

“Great to know,” Jason says. “Thanks. I don’t look in a lot of mirrors.”

"Your loss," Eddie says, fast and under their breath.

Jason snorts. 

"Anyway," Eddie says more cheerfully, "You're a hottie and you're alive now and you're definitely, _definitely_ going to get out. Because I'm going to get out. I have a plan. Fair?"

Jason really turns to look at them now. Something in his stomach rushes and stirs. 

“You were always supposed to be pretty smart,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take your word for it.”

"Trust me," Eddie says, with a self-deprecating little laugh.

Jason looks back at the ceiling, hands behind his head, and smiles. “I really don’t think old Two-Face would be too happy if you tried to bring home a new pet.”

"Yeah, Harvey isn't my boss," Eddie says. "And I don't live with him. So it's not really his business if you happen to follow me out."

“Cocky,” Jason says. It’s a nice thought, but he’s not going to put all his faith in Two-Face not making a fuss. Or even on Two-Face coming at all. He’s seen how it is. Eddie gets by in Arkham by being low on everyone’s list of priorities. What keeps them safe might also be what keeps them locked up.

"I can tell you're not impressed," Eddie says. "I have a plan B, but you won't like it, so we'll skip to plan C, which is I blow a guard and you choke him out."

“What the fuck is plan B, then?” Jason asks, half sitting up. 

"It's a Joker thing," Eddie says, waving a hand like they don't want to get into it.

“No Joker thing,” Jason snarls. “Unless it ends with him dead.”

"I know," Eddie says quickly. "That's why I didn't--ugh. I know. I wasn't recommending it." They were, though, if it was on their list. Second, even.

“Fine,” Jason says. He sits all the way up, pressing his feet against the floor to calm down. “Blow a guard, though?”

"Terrible plan," Eddie agrees. "Let's hope the Harvey plan pans out. Which it will. I know him." They give Jason a jaunty little smile, like they're not both locked up in this pit.

Jason doesn’t get it. He’s been here less than a week and he and Eddie are old enemies. Eddie has no reason to help him once they’ve got a way out themself. They’re nice enough, he guesses, but sticking your neck out for a guy who kills people like you sure is a choice. Jason doesn’t get it at all. 

“What are you going to do to keep busy until daddy shows?” he asks.

"Dont," Eddie says sharply. "Just--watch it, okay?"

Jason says, “It’s a joke,” even though he’s heard the same joke and he doesn’t like them. He says, “I guess it’s a bad joke.”

"Sorry," Eddie says. "There are some occasional gaps in my sense of humor." They get up and start pacing. "I don't want to fight. I'm just on edge. I've counted those fucking tiles a thousand times and I have to do something else before I lose my mind."

“No, I get it,” says Jason. “I’m not even that good at counting. Drop-out,” he adds brightly, because he feels a little bad and it doesn’t cost him much.

"Me too," Eddie says. They cross the cell to Jason, and he thinks for a second they're going to hit him. Instead they put their hand on his shoulder.

“Uh,” says Jason. It takes a conscious effort not to hit.

"Oh my god," Eddie says. "You're going to--no, don't do that. Not until after I--" They duck their head and kiss Jason on the mouth.

Jason mind goes _pop!_ and there’s nothing in it, and his arms don’t know what to do. Maybe he gives off the aura of somebody who kisses a lot of people? He hasn’t, though! He was young, then busy, then dead, and now he doesn’t know anybody! 

He and Eddie are still kissing.

Eddie pulls away a second later. "Just a thought," they say. "Also, please don't hit me." They keep their hand on Jason's arm in a weirdly friendly way.

“What the hell?” says Jason.

"You're cute," Eddie says, like they're saying _You're so stupid._ "And you had my back without even asking. It's weird. I like it."

“You don’t have to do me any favors,” Jason says warily. 

"Oh, no," Eddie says, but not like it was a weird thing to assume. "I think you're _cute_. You know, hot? And you're not a creep or a violent asshole or any of the things I thought you might be."

“I am a violent asshole,” Jason says. “Everyone knows that.”

"You haven't laid a hand on me," Eddie says, too casually.

Jason shuffles his feet. “If someone does, I’ll just kill them,” he says. 

Eddie visibly shivers. "That," they say. "That's what the kissing was for."

Jason takes a deep breath.

“Do you want--is that all you wanted?” he says. “I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. It’s nice.” He’s too aware of how thin the walls are and how many people who hate him are just a few feet away.

"It's not all I _wanted_ , no," Eddie says, looking at Jason pointedly.

“Oh,” says Jason. He’s being awkward. Well, it’s not his fault, is it? _He_ didn’t know. “Well, if you want _more_ , just say so. I’m not a virgin or anything.”

"Just undead," Eddie says. "And I think I'm past that part. Fear and close quarters are great aphrodisiacs!" They sort of jerk forward and kiss Jason again.

This time Jason sees them coming, and tugs them in closer, and leans in harder. When they break apart, Eddie is breathing harder than Jason is. It feels nice. 

He says, "Okay. My place or yours?"

"Yours is more comfortable," Eddie says. There's a hitch in their voice. They stay close enough that Jason can feel their body heat.

Jason grabs them by the shirt and walks backwards to his bunk, dragging Eddie along with him. He wants to look out and see if anyone is watching them. He knows for sure that someone will be listening. But, he decides, who fucking cares? Jason will just fuck up anyone who makes a thing of it. He’s fucked up a few people so far, and he’s getting pretty good at it.

Eddie is clingy. They grab at his arms and hips, never breaking the kiss. Normally, Jay might be a little clingy too--but he feels like he can't afford it anymore. It's too much like being vulnerable. That's all right, though; he pulls Eddie down with him into his bunk and kisses them wildly, feeling like it's half a bad idea and half the only thing he needs in the world.

"Going to be a lot to unpack," Eddie mutters into Jason's mouth. Who the hell says that stuff when they're fooling around? They roll their hips against Jason's insistently, then deftly start undoing his pants.

"Jesus shit," says Jason. Eloquently. Bruce always hated Jason's eloquence. _So suck on this, old man._

Eddie chuckles, and it sounds a little creaky and panicky. They get Jason's pants open and wrap their hand around his dick, biting down on his shoulder at the same time.

Jason makes a noise that can definitely be heard from the next cell. He fights his way onto his side, fights his way into Eddie's pants, and then tries not to lose his mind. He's not a virgin, but _fuck._

Eddie is chanting into Jason's shoulder, muffled and inaudible. Their hand feels _so good_. They freeze for a second when Jason first touches them, but then they keep going.

Jason doesn't need complicated or conversational or anything like that. He just focuses on what they're doing, on the sounds of their breathing and the heat between their bodies and the way the shitty mattress shifts underneath them. Jason is shaking, he feels so good and so raw and so unnerved by everything. He's not going to fall apart, though, he's going to do something _nice_ for once.

Eddie makes a noise in the back of their throat at something Jason does, and they take their teeth out of Jason's shoulder long enough to say, "Holy fuck, don't stop." Someone in the next cell yells something incoherent.

Jason ignores that. He decides to go really crazy and kiss Eddie again, which for some reason feels more daring than the fact that they've got each other's cocks in their hands. 

"Don't stop," he mutters in agreement, into Eddie's mouth. "Just keep kissing me until you come."

Eddie makes another sound, louder this time, and does exactly what Jason says. They kiss hard, with teeth, and they jerk their hips against Jason, desperate and fast. When they come, the noises they make are muffled by the kiss.

Jason hasn't even jerked off in days. It doesn't take that much. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites Eddie's lip and comes in their hand, stars in his eyes. A few seconds later he blinks his eyes open again and stares up at the dark. The two of them feel like too much body in too small a space, suddenly, but Jason's not trying to scare anybody off. He just feels a little overwhelmed.

"I didn't really expect that to work out," Eddie says in a whisper, after a minute.

"Why not?" Jason murmurs, unblinking.He's still shaking. He wonders if Eddie can feel it. "Too good for me?"

"That is _not_ what I meant," Eddie says, propping themself up on one elbow. "I meant for the same reason that you're vibrating out of your skin now. Want me to go back to my bed?"

"Are you my shrink?" Jason says. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay," Eddie says. "I'm going back to my bed anyway." They roll away from Jason, looking down at him for a second before going back to their bunk.

Jason sighs. So much for working out. He untangles himself from the bunk and washes up as well as he can at the shitty little sink. He waits to see if Eddie is going to say something else. Eddie does like talking.

"For the record," Eddie says, after Jason shuts the water off, "this isn't just weird prison sex or something. I'm still going to get you out. And then we're going to find a bed that's at least a queen size."

Jason snorts. 

"Okay," he says. "That’s all right."

He doesn't think Two-Face will let him out, but it's a nice thought. Maybe after Jason breaks out on his own.

"It's freezing in here," Eddie says, apropos of nothing.

"Are you regretting something?" Jason asks sarcastically.

"Did you _want_ me to stay?" Eddie sounds genuinely surprised.

Jason doesn't answer until he's buried back under the stupidly thin blankets. 

"You can do what you want," he says. "I'm just saying. I could probably help you out with that."

"You're so hot and cold," Eddie says, but not like it bothers them. "Or maybe you're just not as delicate as I keep assuming." They laugh sharply and swing their legs over the side of their bunk. "I haven't snuggled in Arkham in ages."

"If I'm so delicate, you probably shouldn't be asking me for protection," Jason says. "Anyway, it's fine." He moves over in the bed, as much as he can. There's not really space for two, they just proved it, but being touched has woken something up in him. He didn't realize how long it's been since he's touched anyone, except to fight them. 

Eddie is tiny, so they fit themselves against Jason again without it feeling like they're both about to roll out on the floor. They wrap an arm around Jason's waist and bury their face in his shoulder. "Mm," they say. "That is _much_ warmer."

"Huh," says Jason. "Yeah." 

It is, but that's not the part that's getting him. He fights back the urge to say, "Weird, right?" But it is a little weird. He remembers before pretty clearly. He remembers being a kid, fighting Eddie. He's hit the Riddler very hard more than once, and this is still happening? Eddie can't have any sense of self preservation, which makes Jason uncomfortable. But at the moment, he's hungrier than he is uncomfortable. He lets himself relax, just a little ways, and soon he is asleep. 

**HARVEY**

It's not the first time that Harvey has broken Eddie out of Arkham, but he swears it'll be the last. He shows up with his new car and a trunk full of dynamite, but it turns out all he has to do is kill two guards to get inside. From there, it's incredibly easy to disable security cameras, bash an orderly in the face with the butt of his gun, and break into the computer--no password! For fuck’s sake--to find a list of who's in which cell. Arkham is a fucking joke.

Less funny is what happens when he gets to Eddie's cell, which was listed as having only Eddie in it. Maybe they hadn't updated their computer yet.

Eddie immediately hops to their feet. "You are so late, Harv. Can we do this? Let's do this." They gesture at the guy on the other bunk, who Harvey is started to have a horrible suspicion he knows. He looks at the chart hung by the door. Yup.

"No," he says. "Absolutely not."

Red Hood sits up and glares at him. "Do what you want. I'm not begging for favors from _you_."

"And you're not getting any," Harvey says. His coin is itching in his pocket, though. He might not be able to call this one without it.

"Harvey," Eddie says in a horribly reasonable tone. "I'm sure you already killed everyone between here and the door. This is really out of your hands."

"First time in Arkham, kid?" Harvey says to Red Hood, past Eddie.

"As a guest," says Red Hood. "I've seen you here before, though."

"Then you know I'm a dangerous lunatic," Harvey says, needled. Who does this kid think he is? He walked into their world acting like he already owned it, and Harvey's not sure the kid's good enough to back that up. Harvey swipes a keycard in the cell and takes a step inside.

"Ah," Eddie says. "Let's--not?"

Red Hood stands up, takes a step closer to Eddie. 

"Been getting along?" Harvey growls. His initial thought was that Red Hood was probably beating Eddie senseless in here, and that pissed him off enough. Maybe he was wrong. To test the theory, he says, "I'm sure Eddie's had about enough of you."

"Ask them," says Red Hood. "I'll wait."

"What I'm trying to tell you, if you'd stop being so overbearing, is that we're breaking out together," Eddie says. "Don't be a dick." Eddie has some nerve. They're lucky Harvey came at all, considering.

Harvey is about to knock Eddie out himself. "He's not one of us, you realize," he says. He looks at Red Hood. "You're not."

Red Hood sneers. "You don't know what I am," he says. "Anyway, this is their idea, not mine. I’m happy to find my own way out."

"Good luck," Harvey says with some satisfaction. "I give 'em two minutes to send more orderlies. And you're pretty short. They could take you."

"Less talking, then," Eddie says. They sound tense, which pisses Harvey off even more.

Red Hood glances at Eddie with an expression Harvey can’t completely read, except that he really dislikes it. 

"What?" Eddie says. "What? I just want to go. Can we go?"

Harvey feels his fingers curling into a fist.

“We can go,” says Red Hood, glancing at Harvey. First his face, then his hand.

Harvey is aware that he's blocking their way out of the cell. He doesn't move.

"Harv," Eddie says, plaintive. Harvey is used to that tone. It's what comes before he hits Eddie.

“At least let _them_ out, asshole," Jason says.

Harvey simmers. "I'll move, but let me tell you one thing first. You might be new enough to this side of things that you don't know, but nobody talks that way to me twice." He steps to the side, mostly because he wants to see what happens if he _doesn't_ hit Eddie. But they're both going to pay: Red Hood for talking back to him and Eddie for taking the side of someone who might as well be Batman.

Red Hood levels a look at him that's completely unshaken. You'd think someone who'd died once would be nervous about doing it again, but maybe this kid has just forgotten that sometimes, mortality sticks. Red Hood walks past him without flinching and turns his back to him out in the hall. He does turn back, though--to oversee Eddie passing by Harvey. 

That makes Harvey so livid that he grabs for Eddie's arm. Eddie has quick reflexes, though, and flinches away.

"What the hell has been going on in here?" Harvey demands. "You haven't been so ready to get in bed with the enemy before."

"He's not the enemy," Eddie says with infuriating patience. "Let's _go_."

"If you want to talk through our philosophical differences," says Red Hood, cool with sarcasm, "maybe we can do that over coffee, somewhere else."

Eddie gives a skittish little chuckle and heads off down the hall. Harvey follows, fingering his coin. If he flips for this one, later, it's just going to be for whether Red Hood gets killed or maimed.

When they pass the dead guards, Red Hood says nothing. Either he doesn't give a shit about anything anymore, or he knows Arkham guards deserve it. When they make their way outside, Red Hood turns back and looks at Eddie, questioning. 

"I _think_ I still have an apartment," Eddie says, smart enough to keep one eye on Harvey. "Let's go. Thanks for the rescue, Harvey."

"I don't have to tell you that you're making a mistake," Harvey says. Let Eddie find out later, when it matters. Wait till Harvey tells Jonathan.

"Thanks for the rescue," Red Hood repeats. He grabs Eddie's hand, and off they walk.


	2. The Exes

**JON**

Jon is at the office when Harvey arrives there. In fact he’s seeing a client. The client is lying on the carpet next to the couch, squealing. Jon did not intend this; he usually tries to keep his two callings separate. It was a mistake, and now he has to do something.

Harvey bangs the door open with no regard for courtesy or confidentiality. "I need to borrow you," he says gruffly.

Jon looks down. “If you wouldn’t mind helping me take care of this.”

"I have a gun," Harvey says. "That kind of taking care of?"

“Don’t be gauche,” Jon says.

"Don't ruin your carpet, you mean," Harvey says. "Yeah, I'll help you out."

“Thank you,” says Jon. He does not try to converse while they drag the client out back and drop him in the river back behind the professional building.

Once they're back inside, Harvey takes his leather gloves off and says, "Okay, now I need to tell you how Eddie needs their neck wrung."

Jon sits in his leather chair, considering and delicate. 

“Did you get them out of Arkham?” he asks. 

"Yeah," Harvey says. "Them and their new friend." He makes an obscene gesture. "They're fucking Red Hood now."

Jon feels a frission of something rush down through him. Cold. He feels cold. Like everything is a few inches further away than it was a second ago, and brighter.

“Are they,” he says. 

"I'm pretty sure," Harvey says. He's simmering, Jon can see. The kind of rage that gets very dangerous when it's fully ignited. "They were cellmates at Arkham, and they left together. Holding hands."

Jon tilts his head, crosses his knees, clasps his hands in front of them. “I thought,” he says. Several things. All of them suddenly less clear. He was mistaken. Or someone is trying to trick him. 

"What, that Red Hood hates scum like us?" Harvey says viciously. "Could still be the case."

“Robin?” Jon asks, barely a whisper. 

"Supposedly," Harvey says. "Who knows? Although why anyone would claim that if it wasn't true, I don't know. It's not exactly something to be proud of."

“Well,” Jon says. He can hardly put one word in front of another. “If you want everyone to know why you do it when you kill Batman.”

"Which will never happen," Harvey says. He takes a closer look at Jon. "Are you all right?"

“Oh, no. Yes,” says Jon. He can’t quite see Harvey, although Harvey is hard to miss. “I think I’m angry.”

Harvey laughs a raspy, jagged laugh. "Oh, believe me, we're on the same page there. Eddie had the gall to act _scared_ of me, do you know that? But not to worry, Red Hood had their back."

“Are you jealous?” Jon asks. It’s not a safe question, but Jon doesn’t worry about that with Harvey as much as some people do.

Harvey's eyes narrow. He takes his coin out and fingers it thoughtfully. "That's quite a question," he says. "Jealous? No, there are just things we don't do around here."

Jon tilts his chin up and his eyes slowly find Harvey’s. “No one crosses the line,” he says. 

Harvey's expression twists into a smile. "Exactly," he says. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

Jon starts to shift uncomfortably but stops himself, trembling invisibly as he watches Harvey. He sees him now, catches on the sight of him and traces the lines of him without unsticking his gaze. Harvey makes him hungry. Harvey wakes the fire in him and sometimes, even he, Jonathan Crane, who is focused like a mink on a rabbit and just as precise, loses control and burns. 

He doesn’t answer the question and doesn’t answer the question. The world is slipping away from him.

"Jon," Harvey says sharply. He grabs the front of Jon's shirt, dragging him close. " _Hey._ " He grabs Jon's chin with his other hand, the bad one.

They could be in space right now for all Jon knows or cares, but Harvey’s hands and breath and urgent voice push air into his lungs. 

“Hello, Harvey,” he murmurs. He brushes his fingertips over Harvey’s lips.

"Nice," Harvey mutters. Not _You look nice_ or _You are nice,_ just _nice_. He grabs Jon's wrist and presses his mouth to it, kissing and digging his nails in.

Jon reaches up with his free hand and slowly pulls Harvey in. 

“Am _I_ jealous?” he asks, and kisses Harvey before he can answer. 

Harvey bites Jon's lip when he kisses back. He grabs Jon by the elbow and hauls him closer, grabbing the back of Jon's head with his other hand.

Jon squeezes his eyes shut to make the world come clearer--it doesn't, but his heart beats louder and brighter every second and his breaths come short.

"Please," he whispers into Harvey's mouth, shivering with anticipation.

"I'm gonna fuck you right here in your office," Harvey says between kisses. He tugs Jonathan's hair and kisses him harder.

Jon makes a pleading sound, his fingers buried in Harvey's shirt.

Harvey laughs, not entirely nicely, and shoves Jon away from him. "Get down," he says. He grabs Jon by the hair again and manhandles him to his knees.

Jon lets himself be put in his place. He digs his nails into the carpet and mutters something that doesn't mean anything even to him. There are stars in his eyes. He isn't sure for a minute what they're going to do, but then Harvey kneels next to him. He grabs Jon's shirt at the collar drags him facedown onto the carpet. Jon exhales, dizzy, tensing under the weight of Harvey's hand. He can already feel a hundred things Harvey could do to him, and he wants them all. 

_Stupid, stupid Eddie._ The thought floats up and he tears it out and throws it away. He doesn't care about stupid Eddie. He cares about the way Harvey could break him in two. 

Harvey fumbles with Jon's belt for a second, then drags his pants down, pulling Jon up by his hips so his face is crushed against the carpet and he's exposed, waiting. Jon hears the slaps of Harvey's coin into his palm. Jon stares at the pattern of the carpet fibers, the tiny rows of hills of light tan that stretch away from in front of his face. His mind is a whirlwind, howling.

Harvey spits on his fingers and works one of them inside Jon, holding him down by the back of the neck. Jon whimpers, feeling a familiar, needed twist of pain and pleasure. The whole time Harvey is doing it, he keeps his body close to Jon's, anchoring him.

"Rougher than that," Jon says. 

Harvey laughs again, then smacks the back of Jon's head. His fingers get rougher, too. He grabs Jon's hip and drags him back into the rough fingers, rocking him back and forth like he's a ragdoll.

Jon swallows a moan. His knees drag against the rough carpet. He doesn't know what to do with his hands so he makes fists and then claws and he grabs at his hair and the floor and all the furniture he can reach. Harvey is dangerous, but Jon runs up to the edge of the cliff screaming and still can't get enough. 

"Make it _hurt_ , make it _real_ ," he hisses. 

"You think it's not real?" Harvey sounds angry, and that's not a show. He takes his fingers out and puts Jon in a chokehold, bearing down on him and roughly shoving his dick inside.

Jon scrambles for a second and fights for breath, animal noises squeezing themselves out of his throat. His whole body is shaking. He's yolked and pinned and Harvey is hard inside him. 

"Yes, yes, yes," he whispers. He shuts his eyes and presses himself into every inch of Harvey's vicious touch.

Harvey growls out something soundless and violent. He bites down hard on Jon's shoulder and fucks him, more frantic and painful with each second. "You come first and I'll make you sorry," he spits.

Jon shudders. He could come, he could come any time, he's so overstimulated it feels like the softest touch could send him over the edge. He bites down hard on his lip, harder, sharp until it bleeds. That pain takes him down a notch. He starts to cry, but it's not for attention, it's just what happens at this point in the game. 

Harvey groans, arm tightening around Jon's throat, and Jon feels him come inside. Jon makes a thin noise, but he stays still. He stays waiting.

"Well, come on," Harvey says, voice still rough. "Your turn now." Without fully pulling out, he reaches around to stroke Jon's dick. His other hand is gripping Jon's hip bruisingly hard.

Jon is still face-first on the carpet. He clasps his hands behind his neck, so hard he feels the bones creak, and sobs. Harvey's hand feels like being sucked under by a riptide. Jon vaguely remembers that people can pass out, and he wonders if he is about to do that.

"I'll kill you if you take off on me now," Harvey says in his ear.

Jon is shaking so hard it hurts.

"Please," he says, clawing at his hair, burying his face in his free hand. "Please."

"Come for me," Harvey says, sliding his palm over the head of Jon's cock.

Jon slams his hands against his mouth. He doesn't scream out loud, but his body screams. He does start to pass out. He collapses into a boneless mess under Harvey's weight and blinks tears down his nose, breaths shuddering.

Harvey rolls off him after a second. He puts a hand on Jon's back, just a light touch. "Jesus," he mutters. "You really give me a workout."

Jon, lying on the floor, says, "Pass me a kleenex. They're on a box by the couch."

"For when you make your patients cry," Harvey says, getting to his feet. "Here you go, Doctor Crane."

Jon cleans up as well as he can, in this setting. He neatens himself, then follows suit and stands.

"Harvey," he says chidingly. "I would never _make_ them cry."

Harvey laughs and takes a seat on Jon's couch. "Well. That was great, but it didn't solve the problem."

Jon goes to the window and flicks aside a slat in the blinds. Maybe that client who fell in the river has found his way out by now.

"What do you see as the problem?" he asks, and then clears his throat, painfully. Harvey was rough after all. 

"Red Hood's the problem," Harvey says. "Well, no. The problem is that Eddie thinks they can just blow us off for him."

"We could kill Red Hood," Jon says. "Do you think anyone important would mind?"

"Batman would mind," Harvey says mildly.

Jon makes an amused sound. "Wouldn't it be funny if the only thing protecting Red Hood was Batman, when he hates him so much."

"That said," Harvey says, "I'm not afraid to piss Batman off. I'm prepared to accept that consequence."

"You could just hit Eddie," Jon says. It's not the best idea, but it's not _not_ an idea.

"I probably will," Harvey says. "That's not a plan, that's a prediction. Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, but hitting them doesn't actually stop them from doing things."

"It would probably just give Red Hood time to get his hackles up," Jon says. "Nasty little dog."

"Time to put him down," Harvey says. "And if you think the risk of killing him is too big, we just need to put him in his place. It can't be that hard."

"I would love to watch him relive his worst nightmare," Jon says thoughtfully. "I can only imagine."

"I don't think we need to imagine," Harvey says, grinning horribly. "Let's call that Plan A."

**JASON**

Jason feels kind of weird about the way they leave Arkham. He's slept with Eddie a few times, protected them a few more, and yeah, they've pretty much gotten over the whole Robin/villain thing by now. That doesn't mean Jason is ready to settle down and have kids, or even that he thinks there's a single warm and fuzzy bone in his body. Even leaving hand in hand with Two-Face stalking behind them felt more like giving the finger to an evil dinosaur than like--well--romance. 

Except Jason followed them all the way home, and it's been three days, and he hasn't left yet. In fact, they've barely left bed.

Tonight Eddie is studiously making ramen with an electric kettle. They don't have a real kitchen. They're wearing underwear and a blanket, and watching the kettle while it slowly thinks about boiling.

"Sorry," they says, nodding to the kettle. They apologize a lot. It usually sounds more like a reflex than a genuine apology.

"I can't really cook," Jason says. 

"Then our friendship is definitely doomed," Eddie says. They've been very carefully not calling it anything but a friendship, Jason has noticed.

"I'm just saying a kitchen would be wasted on me," Jason says. "Plus I like ramen."

Eddie beams at Jason for a second, then immediately turns the expression down a few watts. "Cool. Ugh, I should call Harvey. He's probably still losing his grip over what happened back there." That's been a prevailing theme of the last few days, too, in the rare moments when they aren't too busy to talk.

He’s not Jason’s favorite topic. Harvey isn't Eddie, and Jason doesn't like him. Bruce did, sometimes. Jason always thought he was a creep. He definitely thinks that now. 

"What are you going to tell him?" Jason asks. "That he's a manipulative dickbag?"

"I'm pretty sure he knows _that_ ," Eddie says. "I was going to tell him thanks for the rescue and that us being--whatever doesn't mean that I'm stabbing him in the back. Although I--I think maybe he already felt that way. We haven't been at our best."

"Well, and I've been stabbing a lot of his friends," Jason says.

Eddie shrugs. "The way he treats his friends, you wouldn't think it would matter. You should see how he treats Jon." They say it casually, but their eyes flash.

"Scarecrow Jon?" Jason checks. 

"Oh," Eddie says, like they're surprised anyone wouldn't know. "Right, yeah. I keep forgetting you don't really know how this side of things operates."

"I know enough," Jason says, but it feels like bravado even as it comes out of his mouth.

"Trust me, you don't know how those two are with each other." The water boils and Eddie studiously pours it over the noodles. "Harvey hurts people. And the people he's closest with are the people he hurts most. And you'd have to be a real idiot to get that close."

"You make it sound like they're," says Jason.

Eddie laughs sharply. "Right."

"Oh, okay," Jason says. "Probably should've picked up on that before now. Were they always screwing?"

"Not _always_ always," Eddie says, stirring. "We've all been around a while, you know? Everybody's hooked up. But they're pretty solid. In their horrible way."

"Cute," Jason says. "Old Two-Face can mind his fucking business about you, then."

Eddie chews their lip and hands the ramen to Jason. "Yeah. It's not like I've never been his business. I might be mad too. You know, if I were really possessive and a dick."

Jason says, "I can't imagine fucking that guy. No offense."

Eddie shrugs. "He's Two-Face for a reason. He can be really." The corner of their mouth turns up. "Classic abuser. Better him than Batman, though."

Jason goes through about five different reactions in a single second. He looks down into his ramen bowl and says, "I know what people say, but that's not it. Okay? Other people can say what they want, but if we're--friends, or whatever this is--I want you to know why I hate him, and not a bunch of other fucked up bullshit. That didn't happen."

" _Sorry,_ " Eddie says, and this time it doesn't just sound like a reflex. "That was a horrible thing to say. I'm used to us all just saying awful shit about Batman all the time."

Jason nods. "Thanks," he says. "And for the record you can still say awful shit about Batman. Just not that."

"I'll check the accuracy first," Eddie says without rancor. "Or at least make sure it's not awful shit about you, too." They start a second bowl of ramen. "So why do you hate him? Not that there aren't plenty of reasons. But I've been having trouble solving this one. I can see options, but I'm not sure which…"

Jason is always angry. That's--maybe it's always been true, but it's stronger now, more constant, more violent. Eddie's words stoke it, and he says harshly, "Is the Joker alive?" It's rhetorical. He's seen him.

Eddie flinches and then quickly recovers. "Right," they say. "Good point. We probably all hate Baman a little for that, and I can see how it would be personal."

"I'll make it right," Jason says. "I'll kill him. But it won't fix Batman's failure."

He almost says _Bruce_ , and it occurs to him that it's weird that he's just been Red Hood to Eddie this whole time. Can he give a name without giving away Batman's identity? Does he care?

"Yeah," Eddie says. "Which is why I'm going to have your back." It seems improbable. But so far it's been true.

Jason slurps up some ramen, and then says, "You really don't have to do that. I make a lot of enemies."

Eddie shrugs and smiles. "Me too. They usually start off as friends. I'm not too worried." They finish making their own ramen and crawl back onto the bed to sit crosslegged.

Jason sighs, then sits next to them. 

"You can't keep just calling me Red Hood," he says. 

"No," Eddie says, "but." They eat some noodles carefully. "The thing is, I'm really good at riddles. Do you want to hand me that piece of the puzzle?"

"Not really," Jason says. "That's why I haven't."

"You could make up a fake name," Eddie says, but without much enthusiasm.

Jason laughs. "I mean, do you want to solve this one?"

"Yes and no," Eddie says. "Honesty, if I really wanted to? I could have by now. So the name probably doesn't make that much difference. It's not like I'm stupid enough to go for Batman at home."

"Someone else might be," Jason says. 

Eddie looks thoughtful. "I won't tell anyone. Well, not deliberately. Sometimes I can't really help dropping hints." As if Jason doesn't know that. 

“Call me Jay,” says Jason. “It’s my dad’s name.” It fucking well isn’t. 

Eddie smiles. "I like that. It suits you. Although honestly, why you want to protect the identity of someone you want to kill..."

Jason’s fingers tighten on the bowl. “Maybe I want to get there first. Maybe I have to do things in order.”

"I get _that_ ," Eddie says with feeling. "Everybody has systems."

“It’s not just that,” Jason says. “He’s a person. You know. And people have people. And his people don’t deserve to get hurt.”

Alfred. Barbara. Dick. The dog. Everyone else can get fucked, especially that new kid. 

"Oh," Eddie says. "Huh. To be honest, that never crossed my mind." That Batman has people? That Jason would care? Either way, it's stupid, and clearly Eddie's world is pretty dysfunctional.

“Well, maybe it can cross it now,” Jason says. It’s all kind of a joke, though, Jason taking the protective role. It’s not like any of them would ever speak to him now. The only time he’s seen Dick since he got back, Dick stared Jason down like trash. Would it really make a difference if Dick knew who he was? It wouldn’t. Jason tries not to think about it. He’s only doing what he has to. 

"Noted," Eddie says, like maybe everything Jason tells them is a puzzle piece of a different kind. They're giving Jason a quizzical, sideways smile.

“What?” he demands. “What? Call your ex-boyfriend or whatever.”

"Calm down," Eddie says levelly. "I just think it's sweet." Jason notices they don't take exception to the ex-boyfriend comment.

“I’m not sweet,” Jason says. 

"Nobody's ever done as much for me in Arkham as you did," Eddie says. They sound casual about it. "Not even Harvey. That's sweet."

Jason pokes at his food. “Yeah, well. It made sense.” Like fucking for the last three days has made sense? He doesn’t know. It feels like it does. Maybe it’s just that Eddie is the first nice thing to happen to Jason in years. Not too nice to make sense, but nicer than anything else. 

"Yeah," Eddie says, giving Jason a bright little smile. "I know you like to hit too hard and murder people, but I like you, Jay."

“Thanks, I guess,” Jason says. He doesn’t _like_ to _murder_ people. They’re just between him and his goal. And they don’t feel bad about any of the evil shit they’ve done to get there. “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t trying to kill me.”

"Yeah, that was never my goal, even when you were Robin," Eddie says.

“Does everybody know that?” Jason asks. He hasn’t really tried to hush it up—let Bruce think what he wants. He won’t really believe it until he sees Jason’s face, Jason thinks, and he doesn’t plan to let that happen until he’s good and ready.

"No," Eddie says. They put their bowl aside. "Everyone's heard the rumor. I'd say the only people besides me who are pretty sure about it are Harvey and Jon. Oh, and the Joker."

Rage stirs in Jason’s chest. “Good,” he says. “I want him to know why.”

Eddie doesn't say anything to that. They just give Jason's hand a quick little squeeze.

Jason says, “It’s probably a bad idea for you to be with me like this. People will read into it. It’ll get you hurt.”

Eddie scoffs. "Yeah," they say. "I get hurt anyway. In unlimited scenarios. It might as well be because of something I enjoy."

“I guess,” says Jason dubiously. “You’re kind of going all in, though. It’s weird. No offense.”

"I keep forgetting you don't really know me," Eddie says. "I go all in."

“Yeah, well,” says Jason, uncomfortable. “You’ll probably regret it. Most people do.”

"We can worry about that then," Eddie says. "Right?" They put one hand on Jason's forearm. The touch tingles through his arm and for a moment, makes him a little lightheaded.

Jason sets his bowl down and stands up. “I should be working,” he says. “Everything I had going on before Arkham—it’s probably totally trashed. I’ll see you around, okay?”

Eddie goes completely still. They don't quite look at Jason. " _Oh,_ " they say. "Okay. See you."

“Yeah,” Jason says. He hesitates. “Be careful, okay?” he adds, and heads out the door before Eddie can answer.

**HARVEY**

It takes Harvey less than a week to decide that he's still pissed enough to actually do something about it, instead of just talking. They're at his place, having breakfast, when he says to Jon, "I want to snap somebody's neck." They've been tossing petty revenge plans back and forth for days, and he's sick of it.

Jon sets down his fork and says, “All right, Harvey. Which neck?”

"I'm thinking who'd be more upset by hearing that we fucked the other one up," Harvey says. "Let's start with Eddie." Besides, he really wants to tell Eddie off.

“All right,” says Jon. “Let me cancel a couple appointments. And finish my toast.”

Harvey grins, already more satisfied. He waits for Jon to take care of business. Meanwhile, he picks out a fresh pair of leather gloves. Not that he minds getting his hands dirty, but it's classy.

When Jon's ready, Harvey drives them both to Eddie's hole of a one-room apartment.

“Always such a cheerful neighborhood,” Jon comments. “How nice to think Eddie is finally dating on their level.” He always has something to say about Eddie’s living conditions, as if he doesn’t run around in sewers wearing rags and screaming on a regular basis. And as if he isn’t sympathetic to Eddie, more often than he should be.

Harvey is only too happy to agree, though. The door to the building doesn't lock, and Harvey knows from experience that it's easy to kick in the door to Eddie's unit. He does, and he's gratified to hear a yelp from inside.

Eddie is sitting bolt upright on the bed, watching Harvey and Jon like a prey animal.

“Edward,” says Jon. “No guest?”

"It's Eddie," Eddie says doggedly. "Did you forget since I've been away?"

"I'll take that as a no," Harvey says. He's not shocked.

Jon says, “It wasn’t very nice of him to leave you alone. Unless he thought only Arkham poses a danger.”

Eddie grabs a pillow, which is going to make a pretty poor weapon. "You're mad at me for this too?"

“That depends,” says Jon. “If you’ve thrown us all over to fuck the worst vigilante in town, I might be a little annoyed.”

"Sex isn't an endorsement," Eddie says. Their voice shakes a little.

Harvey fingers his coin. "Question is, what are we going to do about it?"

“Maybe we should hear their defense,” Jon says. “Maybe there’s a good reason for their behavior. Threats. Trauma. I’d be very interested to hear the details.”

"Jon, you are a sick piece of shit," Eddie says wearily. Harvey's so glad he came armed.

Jon says, “You’re a traitorous little bitch.”

"Get out," Eddie says.

"It's not a question of whether we get out," Harvey says savoring the moment. Working with Jon is so satisfying. "It's a question of whether I use my gun."

He flips his coin and Eddie flinches.

Unfortunately, it lands on the unscarred side.

Jon glances over and says, “You said you’d hit them.”

"Lucky for both of you, that's all that's going to happen," Harvey says. The worst he would ever have done is use the butt of his gun, but a little fear is healthy. He can tell Jon that later if he needs to.

“And then what?” Jon says. “They run off and do it again? Whenever Red Hood isn’t busy murdering your business associates?”

"And then we pay Red Hood a visit and hope he's a better listener," Harvey says.

Eddie snorts.

Jon snarls, “He’ll go back to Batman, you stupid, sorry, pitiful animal. And he’ll know everything about us, because you won’t keep your mouth shut!”

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Eddie snaps back. They've never been scared enough of Jon. "Or a traitor? This is my personal life! And I think _that's_ what you have a problem with."

“Don’t think I’m jealous,” says Jon, which isn’t the same as _I’m not jealous._

"Oh, okay," Eddie says with vicious sarcasm. It pisses Harvey off, but Jon's doing fine.

Jon says, “Maybe I’m wrong and he’s perfect for you. Maybe he’ll kill you in the middle of fucking. That’s what you always wanted from Harvey, isn’t it?”

Eddie takes a sharp breath and doesn't say anything. Harvey fills the silence with laughter. "Well, that really hit home, didn't it?" he says. "Sorry, Ed, I don't provide those services to you."

“We should really save you from yourself,” says Jon. “Happily, your beau leaves quite a trail.”

"If you come for him, he'll kill you," Eddie says in a small, tired voice. "And you'll deserve it."

"Well, guess we know where Eddie's head is at," Harvey says. "We shouldn't have wasted time coming here first. Come on, Jon."

It hasn't been a waste, though. Watching Jon tear Eddie a new one is uniquely satisfying.

“Of course,” says Jon. He turns his back on Eddie and follows Harvey into the hall. He shuts the door behind him. Sometimes this kind of thing would upset Jon, but just now, he’s cold as ice. 

**JON**

Jon is right. Red Hood is so conspicuous that it would be harder _not_ to find him. Despite that, though, by the time Jon and Harvey track him down, Jon feels little cracks forming across his brain. He has to refocus, and refocus, on what they’re doing. What he’s doing. He hates Red Hood, it doesn’t matter why, and he’s going to kill him. Let Eddie be right. Jon will kill him. 

"You know," Harvey says, "Eddie probably warned him." Harvey still seems to be operating in whatever normal universe he usually inhabits.

“I don’t see how that matters,” says Jon. “He’ll set a trap and then I’ll bite his ears off.”

Harvey raises his eyebrows as if Jon has said something strange, which he hasn't. "Are you up for this?"

Jon says, “Well he can’t be _allowed_ , can he?” He’s so, so angry. He knows that’s right, but he can’t sift through the feeling to determine what its roots are. Eddie’s fault, maybe. Doesn’t matter.

Harvey shrugs. "At least if he set a trap, it's probably not a very good one. He never was too bright."

“Stupid, nasty child,” Jon agrees. He blinks, to try and make the world agree with itself. “Will he see the Joker, do you think, or will he see something else?” He has his mask clutched in his hands. Everything else is somewhere in the car. He’s very aware of it, even if he doesn’t remember putting it down.

"I'm sure you'd love to make a note of it," Harvey says. He frowns, rolling his coin over his knuckles. "This is a bad look, though, don't you think? A little petty?"

All the smoke billowing around inside Jonathan’s chest coughs on itself. He hates it when Harvey changes tracks in the middle of an action. He hates to be made to feel dirty. 

“Is he a problem or not?” Jon snaps. He bangs open the glove compartment and stuffs his mask inside. “If he’s a problem we should kill him. If he’s a problem then Eddie deserves worse for getting involved.” Slams it shut.

"He's a problem," Harvey says too calmly, in what Jon has come to think of as his DA voice. "I'm just saying we want to have control of this situation. Not get too emotional. With Eddie, it doesn't matter. But we want to make sure we don't go in looking too petty in front of Red Hood."

“I wasn’t planning for it to matter very long,” Jon says unpleasantly.

"Let's see how it goes," Harvey says.

Now Jon is very angry with Harvey as well. 

They approach Red Hood at a hideout he’s been using. Lots of weapons and pathos in there. 

Jon says, “Since we are being so polite, do you want to knock?”

Harvey looks at him sideways, a calculating look. It's almost enough to make Jon feel better. Then he kicks in the door.

By the time Jon can see him, Red Hood is on his feet and armed.

“Oh,” he says. “You.” He doesn’t put down the gun.

Harvey has his gun out, too. "This town," Harvey says, "is really not big enough."

Red Hood narrows his eyes. “Wait for a second,” he says. “It won’t have to be.”

"I get that this is all pretty new for you," Harvey says, gun still pointed at Red Hood's chest, "but you don't understand territory."

“Is this about organized crime?” Red Hood asks. “Or are you just a really ugly ex?”

“Just let me have him!” Jon says.

"Well, careful," Harvey says, lowering the gun a little and turning to Jon.

“Did you hurt them?” Red Hood says, gun still raised. 

“It’s what they beg for,” Jon says. It comes out of what he said before, easily. He’s going to have to kill Red Hood just for hearing it. “It’s a favor. I know you don’t know them well but I would think even you were smart enough to understand that.”

"And I'm guessing you can't really give them that," Harvey says with a laugh in his voice. Good, he isn't slipping too far away.

“I can describe exactly what we did, if you want,” Jon says evenly. 

Red Hood is on him in a second. Maybe he’s forgotten about the gun in Harvey’s hand. It doesn’t matter. Jon hits the ground hard, his head cracking against the floor. He remembers being hit like this, but Red Hood is stronger and meaner than Robin, and Jon can’t get away.

He can hear Harvey shout, and then Harvey is pulling Red Hood off him, swearing and swearing. When Jon’s vision clears, Red Hood is still fighting Harvey. He’s screaming at him, too. Something. He’s screaming something.

Jon touches the blood on his face and decides to perhaps just lie here for a minute. Harvey isn’t losing. If Harvey starts losing, Jon will get up. 

Harvey eventually throws Red Hood against the wall and turns away. He reaches down for Jon's arm and hauls him roughly to his feet. "Let's get the hell out of here," he says.

Jon freezes for a few seconds, longer than you really want to freeze when Harvey is angry, waiting for his ribs to feel right. They do not feel right. He’ll have to move with the ribs as they are. 

“I liked you better dead,” he wheezes at Red Hood, who is trying to get to his feet. 

“Where are they?” Red Hood growls.

“I hope the Joker kills you twice,” Jon answers.

Harvey gives a surprised laugh and wipes blood off his lip. "God, Jon. You _tell_ him." Leading Jon by the elbow, he backs them both out of the room, watching Red Hood the whole time.

When they’re well clear of the whole thing, Jon says seriously, “Harvey: I am hurt.”

"Yeah," Harvey says, more gently than Jon expected. "Need-a-doctor hurt?"

“Yes,” Jon says. “Unfortunately.” The world is much clearer than it was when they walked into this mess. The pain helps. “Harvey?”

"Jon," Harvey says.

“Are we jealous?” Jon asks.

Harvey is silent until they get to the car. Then he says, "Yeah. I think we are."

Jon absorbs that. “Do we owe Eddie an apology?” 

Harvey helps Jon into the passenger seat, gets in, and starts to drive. Eventually he says, "Yeah."

Jon shivers. He says, “I don’t like to lose control. Maybe I should have brought my mask. Would that have made it better?” He touches the glove compartment door. He shouldn’t have done that. 

"I don't know that anything much would have made that better," Harvey says. "I think it was just bound to be embarrassing."

“Oh,” says Jon. He feels very tired. “Do we have to let them fuck him? I hate him,” he adds, to be clear.

"We might not get much of a say in that, unless we want more outings like this," Harvey says. "Look, I'm not happy about it either."

“We could still just kill him,” Jon says wistfully. 

"I can't see any way that wouldn't end in us having to kill Eddie, too," Harvey says. "And let's be honest, we don't _really_ want that."

“They might be grateful,” Jon says. They will not be grateful. And Jon does not want them to die. 

"I don't think so," Harvey says. He's driving in the direction of the hospital, which isn't a good option, but there isn't an alternative at the moment.

Jon is silent for several minutes. Inside and out. Outside, he sits very still because of the pain and because he's very uncomfortable with the entirety of today. Inside, he is whiting out completely. His mind is like a valley of snow, the walls high and soft and the sky exactly the same color. No thoughts.

"Jon," Harvey says softly after a minute. "It's fine. It's salvageable."

"My insurance card is in my wallet," Jon says. "They'll want to see that."

"They might try to arrest you," Harvey says. Jon sees, out of the corner of his eye, Harvey quickly checks his gun.

"I wouldn't think so," Jon says. "I'm a reputable doctor."

Harvey laughs. "Ah, Jon. I love you."

Jon leans into the words, letting his eyes drift shut. 

**JASON**

Jason runs after the assholes, but it's taken him too long to get up from where Two-Face threw him. They're gone by the time he runs out into the street. 

If it's too late to catch them, it's not too late to get to Eddie. Jason runs back inside, grabs a few necessities and throws on his jacket, and he starts running. It's faster than trying to steal a car or catch a train. Eddie doesn't know it yet, but Jason only moved about a mile away.

When he reaches Eddie's apartment (front door unlocked, latch busted), he pounds on the door. 

After a second, Eddie says through the door, "Harvey?" Their voice is sharp with fear.

"Eddie?" Jason says. He's too loud for the hall, but he's scared. 

After a second, Eddie yanks the door open. They're pale, but they don't look hurt. " _Jay_ ," they say. "Jay, I was texting you, I, come in!"

Jason strides inside, shuts the door and then stops dead. Eddie's okay. Right? They're okay.

"They didn't hurt you?" he says.

"They were--shockingly rude," Eddie says. They wrap their arms around themself. "I thought they were going to kill me. Did they hurt you?"

Jason can't answer right away. He's so angry that it blocks up his voice, freezes him from head to toe.

"Not really," he says. "Only because I beat the shit out of the Scarecrow. These are your fucking friends?"

"I shouldn't have given Harvey the cold shoulder," Eddie says. They sound on the verge of tears. "He's so mad. Is Jon okay?" 

"Who cares?" Jason says. He's going to track them down wherever they took _Jon_. He's going to kill them both.

"I do," Eddie says, and now they're actually crying. "I really hurt his feelings, that's why he was being like that."

"You hurt his feelings and he makes you look like _this?_ " Jason demands. "Fuck that! Fuck them! I thought they did fucking murder you, all the shit they were saying!"

"They talk a lot," Eddie says quickly, wiping their eyes. "Really, that's all it is. They're mad that I'm spending time with you. Oh—" They fling themself on Jason, squeezing him tightly.

It startles Jason, just because no one touches him anymore, and it's been days since he saw Eddie. He hugs them and says, "You said you thought they were going to kill you."

"Yeah," Eddie says weakly. "Yeah, they could maybe be better friends. But they didn't kill me."

Jason's fists bunch up in Eddie's clothes. 

"Did they hurt you at all?" he asks.

"My feelings," Eddie says.

"Pieces of shit," Jason says. "I'm gonna find them and break a few more ribs."

"Don't," Eddie says quickly. "Either you'll end up dead or they will. I don't want that. I think it's probably out of their systems now."

Whether it is or not, Jason won't promise not to go after them again.

"I shouldn't have left," Jason says. "I'm sorry."

"Oh," Eddie says. "Well. I wish you hadn't. For a lot of reasons." They tug on the edge of Jason's jacket, fiddling with it.

"Yeah?" Jason says. He watches Eddie's hands. He tries not to think of what a mistake it is to care about anybody. He barely knows Eddie. Eddie is--okay, Eddie is more fucked up than Jason is. It's a bad idea. He keeps watching Eddie's fingers and having the strongest yearning to be here. 

"Don't go," Eddie says. "I don't care how that sounds. Don't."

"Am I gonna watch you every second?" Jason says. "You don't want to be dragged into what I'm doing."

Eddie frowns. "Well, _that's_ not what I meant. To both of your points, I'd say that I'm an adult and I've probably seen a lot of shit you'd never even think to imagine. I don't need protection. But I do want you around. I _like_ you."

"Other people might come after you for it, too," Jason says. "It's not--just because you can handle yourself doesn't mean that's not stupid!"

"People come after me all the time," Eddie says wearily. "I'm still alive, aren't I? I was mostly upset about today because I thought they'd do something to you. That should tell you something about my commitment to this being something more than a fling. But I can see you don't get that."

Jason says, "Well, I don't know! I've never." He stops, embarrassed.

Eddie's eyes light up. "You've never _what?_ " For a second, Jason recognizes them as the Riddler, or as someone who could be friends with Two-Face and the Scarecrow. That doesn't exactly make him want to admit it more, but he's already started. 

"Been in a, you know, a relationship," he says.

"Stupid," Eddie says. "I should have guessed that. When would you have been? Here, come sit down and take your coat off, would you? I keep feeling like you're about to leave."

Jason shrugs out of his coat and sits down next to Eddie. Their warmth hits him, soft, and he exhales.

"Not that I was a virgin or anything!" he says. "I mean. I did sneak out."

"Oh, you're _clearly_ not a virgin," Eddie says, looping their arm through Jason's and grabbing his hand. "But no relationships. Well, I'm not exactly a great model. You've kind of seen how mine look."

Jason grimaces. "I'm not sorry," he says. "I think I gave Two-Face a nosebleed, too."

"Good," Eddie says. "He could stand to be taken down a peg. Look, they probably won't actually hurt me too badly--although they did scare me into not being sure--but they might hurt you. If they can, of course. I need to find a way to calm them down. And I'm sure you standing up to them didn't help."

"I'm not apologizing," Jason says. 

"I was afraid of that," Eddie says. "I'll have to--think about it. Maybe they'll move on. They were both in a mood at the same time. Doesn't always happen."

Jason frowns. "I thought Harvey was the ex." 

Eddie doesn't blush, but they do look at the ceiling. "Oh. I have a lot of exes."

"Are they all complete assholes?" Jason asks.

"Yes," Eddie says fervently.

"Jesus Christ," says Jason. 

"Don't think that reflects on you," Eddie says. "You're not an ex yet. You're not even an…" They squeeze Jason's hand hard. "But you could be."

Jason lets himself feel every line of Eddie's hand against his. It makes his skin prick. He feels uncomfortably relieved, like all the tension and anger that's propelling him through his new life second by second is slowing to a crawl. That's not safe or useful--he has to stay focused--but just that hand in his makes him feel the slightest itch of something he almost doesn't remember. He can't afford to want it. He wants it anyway.

"I feel like you make a lot of bad decisions," says Jason. "I used to beat _you_ up, remember?"

"That doesn't mean it's a bad decision," Eddie says carelessly. "Anyway, you're not doing it _now._ "

“Fuck,” says Jason. “Okay, so what do you want me to do about your shitty friends? Nothing?”

"Right," Eddie says. "Do nothing and they'll feel awful in a couple days."

Like it'll matter how they feel after the fact if they ever lay a hand on Eddie. Jason grits his teeth until he's calm, then says, "I have a little extra cash. Want to go get something to eat?" 

Eddie lights up. "I would love that."

"Let's go, then," Jason says. "Whatever you want."


	3. Here Is the Deal

**EDDIE**

Eddie goes on dates with Jay until they're both reasonably sure they're dating. It's so nice. It also gives Eddie a little flood of anxious energy every time they see Jay. They're waiting for the other shoe to drop. They haven't heard from Jon or Harvey in weeks, although somebody told them that's because Jon was in the hospital and then locked up. And no way will Harvey apologize on his own.

Then one night Eddie is curled up in bed, mostly asleep, when there's a muffled thud against their door. They shoot upright.

"Hello?" they call. When there's no answer, they weigh the options and go to open the door.

Jay is on the floor, hand clutched to his side. He looks up at Eddie, breathing hard. His face is a mess.

"Oh my god," Eddie says. "Jay—" They lower their voice and haul on his shoulder. "Get _inside_ ," they hiss. They can't tell how bad it is.

Jay can get up, anyway, and he obeys Eddie and hobbles inside. 

Eddie puts Jay on the bed, which he proceeds to bleed on. " _Fuck_ ," Eddie whispers. "What happened?" In the back of their mind, they're wondering if Jay could have accidentally led someone here.

"I made a mistake," Jay says. "Don't worry, it's not as bad as it looks." 

"Are you sure?" Eddie demands. "I don't think so!" They try to peel Jay's jacket out of the way so they can see better. _Shit._

"I can't just go to the hospital," Jay says breathlessly. "I don't exist. But it's, it's really not that bad."

"You came here!" Eddie realizes they sound accusatory, but they're scared. Is their new boyfriend going to bleed out in their bed? They grab his shoulder in case that will somehow make it stop.

"I thought you might know someone who's good at stitches," Jay says. "I don't know, and maybe have an ice pack. I know what I'm—" He turns a little green, and carries on. "--I know what I'm talking about. I just need stitches."

"Jon," Eddie says, with a horrible dawning certainty. "The only one I know who can do stitches is Jon."

"Well, fuck," says Jay, and laughs, but that turns ugly fast.

"No," Eddie says, ears ringing with panic. "No, no, don't try to do that. Let me just--I'm going to just call Jon, that's all." It won't even help, he'll say no, but Eddie has to do something, right?

"Mistake," says Jay, but he lies back and stops talking. His breathing sounds painful.

"I'm going to make it work." Eddie is near tears. They've never done well with injuries, even in their line of work. They grab their phone with shaking, bloody fingers and call Jonathan.

Jon answer his phone after the third ring.

"Eddie," he says cautiously. Impossible to tell his mood, just from that.

"You're out of Arkham," Eddie says, practically whiting out from relief. "Oh, thank god. Jon, I need you. I need your, your medical skills." It occurs to them, slightly belatedly, and they really do not want to see Jon. Oh well, no choice.

There's a long silence, and then Jon says slowly, "Medical skills."

"Stitches," they say. "Please." It occurs to them what Jon will think. They let him think it.

"You're at home?" Jon says. He sounds far away. 

"Yes," Eddie says. "Please, please hurry." They realize they're probably going to have to touch the wound, just to stop the bleeding. " _Fuck_."

There's another silence, and then the call drops.

Eddie starts to cry with frustration. Maybe Jon will come. Probably. "Jay?" they say. "Can you hear me?"

"Don't worry so much," Jay mumbles. 

"It's going to be okay," Eddie says. They press their hands to where they think the wound is. "I'm going to hold onto this until Jon gets here, okay?" Oh god, what if Jon just refuses? Of course he'll refuse. What is Eddie supposed to do?

"Never bring a knife to a knife fight," Jay says. 

Eddie gives a hiccuping laugh. "Still funny, anyway. So that's good. Who were you even fighting?" Maybe if Jay stays awake, he'll be okay.

"Cops," says Jay. "Fucking cops."

"Oh, no, Jay," Eddie says, miserable. Jay is not going to fucking die from cops. No way.

"You scared?" Jay asks. He keeps shutting his eyes. "Don't be scared." 

"I'm so scared," Eddie says fervently. "Stay awake for me, okay?" That's what everyone always tells them when they're trying to die, so hopefully it's right.

"Don't be scared," Jay says again. 

He's still awake, but not saying much, when there's a tapping at Eddie's door. 

"It's open!" Eddie calls. They've calmed down just a little. Enough to be very worried about what Jon is going to say or do.

The door opens, then creaks half shut, and pauses, and Jon's voice says clearly and quietly, "Eddie. Is this a trap?"

"No, he's hurt," Eddie says. "Please, Jon, come on, I don't have time to argue."

The door creaks the rest of the way shut and Jon comes and stands next to the bed. He looks down at Jay, who says, "Scarecrow," and then nothing else.

"He's hurt," Eddie says. "Whatever you want me to do to make this up to you, I will, Jon." Probably a stupid thing to promise, but it feels worth it. And they and Jon sometimes do okay, when it's just the two of them.

Jon's eyes land on Eddie, glittering and distant. 

Jay says, "I'm not dying. Fuck off."

Jon flinches, Eddie doesn't know why. He says, in a shivering voice, "You owe me anything I want."

"Yes," Eddie says instantly. Their heart thuds against their ribcage. _So stupid._

Jon nods shortly and takes off his coat and rolls up his sleeves. He has a bag with him, which he sets down on the bed. 

"Show me," he says. "You don't have to look."

"Oh my god, thank you," Eddie says. "Uh, it's there. There." They rub their shaking hands together. "Thank you, Jon."

"It might be nice if you made some hot water," Jon says shortly. He does something to Jay's shirt and Jay moans in pain.

"Okay," Eddie says, and they get away from the bed as quickly as possible. They really don't want to pass out, and it seems very possible. They heat the water, thanking god every second that Jon is so competent and amazing and willing to help. No matter what the price ends up being.

Jay makes some terrible noises while Eddie is turned away, but they don't think that Jon is murdering him. 

Jon says, "It's only anaesthetic, you nasty little animal." It's the wrong time to turn around--Jon is injecting the site of the injury with a horrifically large needle.

Eddie steps back against the hot plate, immediately burning the back of their arm. " _Fuck_ ," they say.

"Okay," Jay says hoarsely. "'S okay."

"Shut up," Jon says tersely. He withdraws the needle and sets it aside, then takes out his suture kit.

"Thought you were...a shrink," Jay says.

"Psychiatrists go through medical training," Jon says. "I know many ways to kill you."

Eddie laughs, mostly out of pure adrenaline. Jon is so good at what he does. And he's not going to kill Jay. It would offend his professional pride at this point.

"Just tell me how to help," Eddie says. They bring the hot water over, careful not to spill it.

"Cloths and a trash can, please," Jon says. "You have those. You have those things?"

"Yes," Eddie says. Thankfully they do, at the moment. They do everything Jon says, amazed that their hands aren't shaking too badly. He's a very soothing presence. When he's not being nasty.

Jon doesn't look at Eddie the entire time he works. He doesn't look at Jay, either. He just looks at what he's doing. When he's done stitching and has cleaned up, he gives Jay a thorough going-over. 

"I'm leaving painkillers," he says. "Take them as prescribed. Or overdose yourself. I don't care. You should do it for the pain and the swelling, though. And ice your eye or it will swell shut." He stands up, snatches his bag and coat, and pushes past Eddie. 

"Jon—" Eddie starts, but he's gone. Eddie wraps their arms around themself. Jon is a saint. They stand like that for a second before going back to the bed. "Hey," they say.

"Told you I wasn't dying," Jay whispers. "That fucking sucked, though."

"You really could have died," Eddie says. "You're the stupidest person." They want to hug Jason, but that would obviously be a mistake. They settle for putting their hand in his hair.

Jay pokes listlessly at the bottles Jonathan left on Eddie's bed. Narcotics and antibiotics. "Think they're poison?" Jay asks.

"No," Eddie says. "He's a professional when it counts." Well, mostly.

Jay says, breathing too hard, "You think he's pissed I beat him up?"

"Yes," Eddie says patiently. They stroke Jay's hair. "I'm sure he is." But he still helped. That doesn't mean he likes Jay, but he does mean he might be over being angry at Eddie.

"Still not sorry," Jay says.

"You don't have to be," Eddie says. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone in their life got along?

Jay says, "Can I have water? For this stuff?"

"Yeah, of course." Eddie gets him water and helps him sit up. "No more fighting cops with knives, okay? How did that even happen?"

"It was my knife," Jay says sadly. "I fucked up." He downs both sets of pills, then says, "I'm sorry, your bed."

"Screw the bed," Eddie says. "It isn't a nice bed." They sit on it very carefully, trying not to jostle Jay. "Hey, what's your real name?"

Jay groans. "Don't be shitty," he says. "I'm compromised."

"I just want to call you it," Eddie says, upset. It's stupid that it feels so important, but this has been an emotional night.

"You'll find out who I am," Jay says doggedly.

"From a first name?" Eddie says. "I really doubt it. You can't possibly be that famous, or I'd recognize you." Eddie is good at puzzles, though.

"You know when I died," Jason says. He's terribly pale, leaning back on his elbows and shaking.

"I--well, never mind for now," Eddie says, taking pity on him. "Can you sleep, do you think?"

Jay eases onto his back. "Yeah," he says. "I can sleep. Do you have ice?"

"Yes. I'm going to keep an eye on you all night," Eddie says. No way can they sleep. They get Jay the ice, then curl up next to him and put their arm around him gingerly. 

They feel him relax into their touch. 

He says, "Don't worry. Don't worry." His visible eye drifts shut.

Eddie stays up all night, worrying.

**HARVEY**

Harvey is having breakfast when there's a knock on the door. His enemies don't usually knock, but you never know. It doesn't hurt to be prepared. Jim Gordon has knocked before.

Still in his pajamas and bathrobe, Harvey gets his .22 and opens the door, gun first.

"It's only me, Harvey," Jon says. He's been harsh and unsmiling since he got out of Arkham. Harvey has not asked what they did in there, but he knows the doctors at Arkham dislike Jon in particular for the crime of formerly being one of them. 

Harvey puts the gun away quickly. "Well, come in," he says. Maybe Jon has turned a corner and is ready to be roughed up or taken care of a little. Or maybe something's wrong. "Do you want breakfast?"

"If you're eating," says Jon. He steps into the foyer and glances past Harvey into the house, like he expects someone else to be waiting. 

"Just you," Harvey says, frowning. "It's eggs and bacon. Come on." He grabs Jon's elbow to propel him to the breakfast table.

At the table, Jon eases his arm out of Harvey's grip without comment. He waits for breakfast to be delivered in silence. 

Harvey puts eggs, bacon, and a fresh round of toast in front of Jon, trying not to get upset or frustrated. Fuck Arkham. It doesn't do this to Harvey.

"Well, is this a social visit?" he asks.

Jon says, "Eddie called me."

"What, to apologize?" Harvey asks. It's not impossible. Eddie can contort themself into an apology for almost anything. Maybe Red Hood wasn't all he was cracked up to be.

"Emergency services," Jon says. "Dead Red Hood can't go to hospitals."

Harvey can get angry slowly, but sometimes the rage is just there, in one big rush. That's what happens now. He stands up, jostling his plate. "Oh _really_. What, and you can? Oh, that's right, when you go to hospitals, you end up in Arkham! Eddie really had the nerve to call you up for that?"

Jon says, "Maybe we don't owe them an apology after all."

"That's what we get for deciding to be charitable," Harvey says. Not that he's taken any steps in that direction yet. He was waiting for Jon. "Is Eddie escalating things? Did you tell them to fuck off?"

"No," Jon says. "I helped."

"WHAT?" Harvey shoves his chair back so hard it falls over.

"There was a lot of blood," Jon says evenly. He prods the eggs with the tines of his fork.

Harvey never knows how Jon will take anything, so he doesn't spend a lot of time tip-toeing around and trying to find out. He just does what he'd do anyway and pays attention to how Jon reacts.

"You should've let him die," he says.

He pays attention, for example, to the way that Jon blinks when he says that. "I don't owe them anything anymore," Jon says. Then he gets a crafty look, the one that means he thinks he’s bringing Harvey something worth having. "And Eddie owes me. They promised me anything I want."

" _Anything_ you want?" Harvey picks up his chair and sits back down. "That might be worth something." Then again, he and Jon can usually get Eddie to do what they want regardless.

"Anything at all," says Jon. "But I thought we might transfer that bargain to Red Hood. If he cares about Eddie that much."

"Hm," Harvey says. "Jon, I missed you."

Jon says, brisk, "I was barely gone."

"And yet," Harvey says. His plans are better with Jon in them. Going to dinner alone is depressing. And nobody feeds his sense of righteous indignation and spite like Jon does. Not to mention the sex.

Jon blinks and sets down the fork. 

"I'm back now," he says. 

"Yeah," Harvey says. He doesn't grab Jon's wrist, even though he wants to. There's no how telling how Jon will react after even a short stay in Arkham. Harvey doesn't want to get bitten right this second. "Listen, you let me know when you're ready to lean on Red Hood and we'll do it together."

Jon thinks quietly. "He's probably still at Eddie's," he says. "We'll have to wait until he's out of there. That's all right. A few days and I’ll--" He doesn't say what he’ll, but then Harvey has never once heard him admit out loud that there’s anything wrong with him, beyond a broken bone.

"And you'll at least come by here during that time," Harvey says, asking. "If not stay here."

"I always enjoy your company, Harvey," Jon says. "I am very busy, however."

"At least for breakfast," Harvey says firmly. Jon gets a little weird if he's left alone after a stint in Arkham. Then again, a Jon with no social contact might be a useful thing to deploy against Red Hood.

"Yes, breakfast," Jon says. "That's fine."

_Fuck it,_ Harvey thinks. He does grab Jon's wrist, just for a second, just long enough to squeeze.

Jon spins on him with an ugly expression. Then it banks, and he says, "Harvey?" He thinks it's a request.

Harvey puts his hand on the back of Jon's neck, squeezes, and says, "You're not going anywhere." He kisses Jon hard, hand still on his neck.

Jon kisses back, his hand delicate on Harvey's shirt. 

"I'm taking you to bed," Harvey growls. He drags his fingers along Jon's jaw, feeling how brittle it is. "And we're gonna stay there until we're ready to fuck up Red Hood's life and show Eddie it's time to turn things around."

Jon's eyes meet his, finally, although they're still a hundred miles away. "One thing at a time," he says. 

"Yes," Harvey says. "For now, this." And he drags Jon into the bedroom, slamming the door behind them.

**JASON**

Jason stays with Eddie for two days and then refuses to lie still anymore. He's all right, and he's had worse and recovered from it. Bruce would have had him back in the field by now, and he's not about to fall behind where Bruce would be. That’s why he’s leaving, not to get away from Eddie. He kisses them goodbye, and promises to check in.

"You can text me whenever," he says. "You know. Or if you just want to chat."

"I thought so," Eddie says, pleased. "I didn't really get that before. I will." They send Jason on his way, but Jason thinks they look pretty small and defenseless when he leaves.

They do exchange texts over the next few days. Jason doesn't have time to stop in, in person, but he feels like they’re moving forward somehow anyway. He didn’t know he wanted to move forward, but it’s nice, and the more he learns about Eddie the more he likes them. As soon as he can, he'll go back. Maybe not for sex, yet--well, maybe really careful sex. But just to hang out. 

He doesn't tell Eddie everything he's up to, despite a pretense of being open. Eddie doesn't need to know that Jason is tracking Nightwing as often as he's tracking the Joker's crew. 

He almost gets caught one night and goes home feeling shaken. He's sitting on the window ledge trying to rub the feelings out of his head, when there's a noise.

Before Jason can swing himself back inside, Two-Face and the Scarecrow burst into the room. After the first adrenaline rush, Jason tracks that they're not visibly armed. But they don't look friendly, and invisible just means they’re not Harley Quinn.

"Hey kid," Two-Face says. "Let's talk."

"I'm not interested," says Jason. 

"Then we'll talk, you listen," Two-Face says. "What's the matter? Jon saved your life. You should be on your knees thanking him." He gives the Scarecrow a weird sideways glance that Jason can't figure out.

"I wasn't dying," Jason says. "But sure, thanks for the help, _Jon_."

"You should be fucking grateful," Two-Face says, sitting down on Jason's couch. "In fact, we're here to talk about how grateful you are. Or how grateful Eddie is."

"What does that mean?" Jason demands.

Scarecrow says, "Well, you see, they made a promise."

" _Anything_ Jon wants," Two-Face says. "I hope you realize what a stupid promise that was to make."

"You really are the most incredible friends, aren't you," Jason says. 

"It's tit for tat," says Scarecrow.

"Jonathan didn't have to do what he did for you," Two-Face snaps. "That was a favor. But if you're concerned about what Eddie might have to do--and believe me, you should be concerned--it doesn't have to be this way." He leans back into the couch cushion, completely at ease.

"What do you want?" Jason says, fist clenching. 

"The same thing Eddie offered us," Harvey says. "Anything Jon asks. Any time he asks. And he will."

"Are you fucking kidding?" Jason says. "I can't think of anything he could ask me that I'd do."

"Which is why we're coming to an agreement about it," Two-Face says. "For instance, I imagine you have some useful tips on Batman that we couldn't find elsewhere. Fears come to mind. Jon is very interested in fear."

Jason says, "Yeah, we all know about that. Thanks. But I'm not helping you beat Batman."

"Because you're best friends," Two-Face says, sneering. "Look, I don't know what the favor will be. I just know it's you or Eddie. If you can't step up, don't worry. Eddie's great at doing favors."

Jason bites down on fury. 

"If you hurt them I'll kill you," he says. 

"Eddie is our _friend_ ," Two-Face says. "We're not going to do anything permanent."

"Yeah, what will you do?" Jason demands.

"I'm sure Jon can speak to that," Two-Face says, giving the Scarecrow another one of those intense looks. "But he's usually looking for test subjects for his experiments, so if nothing else presents itself...Eddie does fear very well."

Jason takes an aggressive step forward. 

"I should take you apart now," he says. "I don't care if Eddie wouldn't like it."

"You say that like you're capable." Two-Face stands up, and he is really fucking tall compared to Jason. "There are two of us, and we're both a lot more dangerous than you."

"Where've you been lately?" Jason says stubbornly. "Because this isn't the old days, and I don't follow Batman's fucking code."

"Then that makes three of us," Two-Face says. "What should we do with that information? Or do you just want to hope Eddie can handle more you think?"

"Leave them alone," Jason says. "God, what is even one thing they like about you?"

Two-Face makes a crude gesture.

"Oh, well, I guess that makes you pretty unnecessary at this point," Jason says.

Scarecrow sneers. "That's ego," he says.

"Enough," Two-Face says. "That's not it, anyway. Eddie's a friend, and they have been since they were the age you were when you died. My problem isn't with them, it's with you."

"So you're going to threaten your friend to get to me?" Jason demands.

Two-Face raises his eyebrows. "Yes," he says, and he waits.

The stupid, horrible thing is that Jason knows he's not bluffing. God, he _hates_ Two-Face. 

"So to get you off their back, I have to owe you?" Jason says. 

"Do you want me to write it down?" Two-Face asks. "Jon has a pen."

"Thanks," Jason says nastily. "I think I'm good."

"Good you remember you owe me, or good you'll let Eddie pay?" Scarecrow asks delicately.

Two-Face laughs. "Jonathan likes to be sure about these things." He looks Jason up and down. "He'll owe you. He's a good kid." Jason would be able to hear the sneer even if he couldn't see it.

"I'm not a kid," Jason snaps. 

"Sorry, we all remember you that way," Two-Face says. "Robin."

"Robin is dead," Jason says. "Now there's just me."

"No, there is a Robin, actually," Scarecrow says. "A scrupulous little thing."

"You know what I meant," Jason says.

"Bet he bugs you," Two-Face says thoughtfully. "He bugs all of us. Oh well, let's save that thought for later."

"Don't get too excited," Jason growls. 

"Protecting the little one, too?" Scarecrow asks. "Not if I tell you to do otherwise."

Two-Face laughs and puts his hand on Scarecrow's arm, weirdly lightly. "Exactly. Let's go, Jon. We'll be in touch."

Jason doesn't try to stop them, or fight with them any longer. They leave, with him staring after them. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He shouldn't have gotten involved with anyone. He knew he shouldn't. And now what's he going to do? Whatever that gangly sociopath tells him to? Yeah fucking right. He's going to have to work out how to get them off his back without them hurting Eddie. As for the new Robin--god, he doesn't want to, but maybe someone should give him a heads up.


	4. Batman and Robin(s)

**DICK**

When Dick's at his real job, the one that pays him, he sometimes gets home even later than when he's at the other one. It was a rough night, and he's not really focused when he gets home, changes out of his uniform, and showers. His hair's still wet when he crawls into bed. The heat is on, which means it's working, and everything is warm and comforting for once. He lies there half-asleep for a little while just to savor the feeling.

He's nearly fully drifted off when there's a sound-- _bah-buh buh-bah bah_. It takes him a second to locate it before he realizes it's his _window_.

That is absolutely never a good start. But maybe it's Tim? Roy? No, Roy has a key. Dick struggles upright with a lot of effort and peers out the window.

Crouching out on the dubiously safe fire balcony is Red Hood. 

Dick has been hearing rumors for months--including intimations from Bruce, which he may or may not believe--but he hasn't really gotten close before. 

He's shorter than Dick expected. 

Dick's gun is locked up under the bed, but his escrima sticks are hanging off one of the bedposts. He grabs them, and then does the only thing he can think to do, which is open the window. He can hear Bruce in his head, yelling at him.

"I know who you are," Red Hood says. "I came to tell you something."

"What?" Dick says. Not what like _What do you have to tell me?_ But like _What the hell?_ Of course Red Hood knows who he is. Of course. This is a terrible night.

"I'm not out to get you," Red Hood says. "So you can stop looking so freaked out."

"I'm kind of in my underwear and you're a known murderer," Dick says. Against his will, he finds himself listening for hints of the thing Bruce won't quite say out loud. It's hard to tell.

"Yeah, and you look great," Red Hood says, skirting the whole murder thing.

"Are you going to tell me something, or what?" Dick asks. The frustrating thing is, he _can_ hear traces of a ghost in Red Hood's voice.

"Yeah," says Red Hood gruffly. "Robin."

Dick goes cold. "What? What did you do to him?" He's shivering with the window open, but he's prepared to kill Red Hood right here if he's done anything to Tim.

"What?" says Red Hood. "No, not--nothing!"

"Oh," Dick says. "Then what are you talking about?" He really wishes Red Hood would take off the damn hood. It's hard to talk to a mask.

"I wanted to give somebody a head's up, that's all," Red Hood says. "Something I heard. Scarecrow and Two-Face are thinking of going after him."

That doesn't fit with what Dick's heard so far, which is that Red Hood wishes they'd all rot in hell. "Why are you telling me?" he asks. He really wants to put down his weapon and wrap a blanket around himself, but that would be too stupid.

"I'm not fucking telling Batman," Red Hood says. 

"And why do you care?" Dick asks. His teeth start to chatter.

"Jesus, invite me in or put on some clothes," says Red Hood.

Dick very much does not want to do either of those things. He wants to roll over and go back to sleep. "Come in," he says grudgingly. Once Red Hood's inside, Dick grabs a pair of sweatpants and pulls them on over his boxers.

"This really doesn't have to take long," Red Hood says. 

"I just don't want to have this conversation in my underwear," Dick says. He feels a sudden pang. If Bruce was right, if Red Hood was a ghost, this would all be way less awkward. "Why are they after him, anyway?"

"Don't know that," says Red Hood. "They might not even mean it. Still. It's better if someone knows, right?"

"Yeah," Dick says, frowning. "I just don't understand why you're helping."

"Maybe I just don't want to see a kid get killed," says Red Hood hotly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, he's going to die. But at least it won't be my fucking fault."

"Sounds like you know all about it," Dick says. The way Red Hood talks is really bothering him. It could be the voice of any thug in Gotham, but it could not.

"Well, I have lived here for awhile," Red Hood says, sarcastic. 

"For what it's worth, I thought you were Batman's enemy," Dick says.

"I'm not helping _him_ ," says Red Hood, so harshly that it echoes through Dick's apartment.

"You hate him but you don't hate Robin?" Dick says quietly. "Weird." It's not that weird. Isn't that where Dick lands, too?

"Don't think so hard about it," Red Hood says. "Batman's an adult douche. Robin's a kid caught up in his bullshit. I kill bad guys, not kids."

"You sound kind of like a kid yourself," Dick says. Not like a _child_ , but Red Hood sounds young.

"Are you going to take it seriously or not?" Red Hood demands.

"Yes! Obviously yes." Dick rubs his face. "God. Message received." He probably shouldn't even have let Red Hood in.

"Fine," says Red Hood. "Great. Bye."

"Wait," Dick says, feeling like all those people Batman is always disappearing on. "Who are you?"

"I'm the guy who's going to fix this shithole," Red Hood says, yanking the window open with a blast of cold air.

"That's what Batman says, too," Dick says tiredly. "Seriously, though, how do you know who I am? I don't exactly hand that information out." That will probably feel like a bigger deal in the morning when he's less exhausted.

Red Hood hesitates. "Don't worry about that," he says. "I'm not gonna tell anyone else."

"You sound a lot like somebody I used to know," Dick says, just to see what kind of response he gets.

"Yeah, well, we all sound like Gotham around here," says Red Hood. "Listen, I'm leaving. I just wanted you to know."

"Wait," Dick says, because now he can't possibly let it go. "Wait. Jason."

Red Hood freezes, hands on the window ledge, staring (probably) back at Dick.

Dick hadn't honestly expected a reaction. "Jason," he says. "Jay."

"That's not," Red Hood says. "I'm not the person you're looking for."

Now that Dick is listening for it, he really can hear it. That's Jason's voice. It's muffled by the hood, and it's older, but it's him. "Oh my god," Dick says.

"Don't," says Red Hood.

"It is you." Dick puts the escrima sticks down on the bed and goes over to Red Hood. Yeah. Still really short. His breath catches in his chest and he's consumed by the overwhelming need to see Jason's face. "Take it off."

Red Hood shakes his head. "Don't," he says again.

"Please," Dick says, and even though he doesn't mean it to, his voice breaks. _It's Jason._ How is that possible?

Slowly Red Hood's hands drift upwards, and slowly the mask comes off. He's a little pink from being inside, and his hair's messed up--messed up, and streaked white--but it's really him.

"Oh my god," Dick says again. His eyes well up, and he wipes them fast, instinctively not wanting Jason to see him cry. "Don't attack me," he says, and he flings himself on Jason, hugging him tightly.

Jason is a little wooden for a second, and then he gives Dick a quick hug back. 

"Hey, it's okay," Jason says, sounding slightly overwhelmed. "Hey, Dick, it's fine. Okay?"

"It's fine," Dick echoes. "Yeah, _now_ it's fine. Now that I know." He sniffs hard. "I have a ton of questions. I bet you don't want to answer any of them."

Jason looks at the floor. "Probably not," he says.

"I missed you," Dick says. "You have no idea." He doesn't know what to say. No part of him believed that Bruce's paranoid theory was right.

"I guess it's been awhile," Jason says.

"Awhile, yeah," Dick echoes. "Since you _died_. I don't understand how you're here."

“I woke up,” says Jason. “Now I’m here. It doesn’t matter.”

Put like that, it definitely matters. But Dick's afraid that if he pushes, Jason will disappear. "Just so you know," Dick says, "You're really, really important to me. I know you have a lot going on, but don't just disappear on me forever, okay?" He knows what Jason's been doing is so far from okay with Bruce, but Dick isn't Bruce.

Jason takes a step backwards, towards the window. 

"Don't tell him," he says.

"I won't," Dick says. He doesn't tell Bruce anything, usually. "But he suspects. And it's killing him."

Jason's expression goes rigid. "Good," he says. 

"Yeah," Dick says, feeling suddenly even more tired. "I get that. Look, my number hasn't changed. You should call me sometime." That's probably a set-up for an even worse situation with Bruce, but it's Jason. Dick can't just let him walk out.

Jason says, "We're not on the same side anymore. It's probably better if I don't see you."

"Okay," Dick says. "Well, nobody could ever make you do something you didn't want to. But you know where my window is, I guess. I'm not moving any time soon."

Jason says, "Yeah." He looks so uncomfortable. 

"I know expressing emotions sucks for you," Dick says, taking a chance. Jason _probably_ won't stab him? "I don't care. I'm going to say it. I love you and I miss you."

Jason's hands clench. "You're okay?" he asks.

"Mostly," Dick says. Oof. A little too honest. "Things are rough sometimes. It's been rough without you. And other stuff. You know. Gotham. But I'm hanging in there. Are you?"

"I'm keeping busy," Jason says. 

"I heard," Dick says. Unfortunately, he's heard a lot about what Jason's up to. Most of it is aligned with what the rest of them do, but with the other side's methods. Dick can't say he _entirely_ disapproves.

Jason shrugs a shoulder. "I have to get him," he says. "If Bruce couldn't do it, someone has to. And the rest of them don't deserve any better."

"Probably," Dick says. "I'm sure you know what kind of danger that puts you in with them." He hates the idea of Jason out there without any type of backup from anyone. He's a kid, or he was.

"Doesn't matter," Jason says. "As long as I get to him first."

"I'm sorry," Dick says. "This just--sucks. The whole thing." Jason's going to leave and be out there all alone and nobody is going to have his back. But maybe that's just how things are now. "Do you have friends?" Dick asks. Jason is going to laugh in his face.

Jason gets a look on his face that is painfully, hilariously familiar, a sort of caught-cat look. 

"You do," Dick says. "Oh no, it's someone horrible, isn't it?" There's a little bubble of relief caught in his chest, making him want to cry.

"They're okay," Jason says. "I mean, they don't really hurt people. So better than you think I am, probably."

"They," Dick says. "That's actually their pronoun, or you're trying not to give me any more information?" Because he pays better attention than Bruce and has a pretty good idea who Jason is talking about.

Jason mutters under his breath.

"You're friends with the Riddler!" Dick says. "You always made fun of the Riddler!" This is almost a normal conversation. He reminds himself that Jason is dangerous, but the thought doesn't stick.

"Yeah, well, I know," Jason says. Is he blushing? He's blushing.

"You're not just friends," Dick says with dawning horror. " _Jay._ "

"So what?" Jason says defensively. "We were in Arkham together. They're nice."

Dick frowns. "What? Who the hell put you in Arkham?" Jason doesn't belong there.

"Who normally puts people in Arkham?" Jason says, like Dick is stupid. "Fucking cops, man."

Dick flushes. His uniform, hanging on the back of the door, is very visible. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry. Well, I'm glad you found a boyfriend in there."

"They're not a boyfriend," Jason says, sizing him up like they're about to fight.

"Sorry," Dick says again. "Whatever they are. I'm glad. Sounds like there's someone watching your back." He forgot how hard it is to have a conversation with Jason sometimes.

"They are," Jason says. "You don't need to worry, though. I know what I'm doing."

"I always worry," Dick says. "You're still family, even if you don't want to be." It's only through sheer willpower that he stops himself from reaching out and touching Jason again.

Jason is quiet for a minute. "I don't think so," he says. 

"Well," Dick says, "You're still my family. And I will see you again."

"Yeah, that seems likely," Jason says. His eyes flick up to the uniform and away again. 

Dick doesn't think there's any way to prove what he's saying when Jason can see all the evidence to the contrary. "I don't have a solution right now," he says. "But I'm not giving up on you."

Jason says, "You don't know me."

"Then maybe you don't know me anymore, either," Dick says. "Just a thought. But I can't stop you from leaving." He's cold again. He wishes Jason would just leave the window shut.

Jason says, "I just wanted to tell you about Robin. That's all."

"Thanks," Dick says. "I appreciate it. Good luck with the Riddler." He smiles at Jason, which he knows will probably piss him off. Jason hasn't changed _that_ much.

Jason says, "Huh," and puts his mask back on. "Thanks, I guess."

"See you," Dick says. He will, in one uniform or another. Jason's right about that. And it probably won't be pretty. But at least Jason is alive and not alone.

**DICK**

Dick doesn't sleep much. When he wakes up, the first thing he does is text Roy to come over. Then he texts his landlady to see if he can get a new lock on his window. Just in case.

Roy doesn't show up for a couple of hours. When he does he has wet hair that's crispy from the cold. 

"Sorry," Roy says. "Had to stop off and shower. Grace and I got into something nasty early this morning."

"I bet," Dick says icily. He's incapable of being anything but icy when Roy talks about Grace, which is probably fucked up.

Roy raises his eyebrows. Well, that's gotten this off on the wrong foot. Roy says, "Did you want me for something?"

"Yeah," Dick says. "Sorry. I had to tell someone about this, and I can't tell my Gotham people. I saw Jason."

Roy frowns. "You need a doctor," he tries.

"No, seriously," Dick says. "I know it sounds crazy, but there's precedent, okay? Superman came back. Stuff happens. There are Lazurus pits and, and, I don't know." Part of the reason he didn't sleep was that he was up all night worrying that Jason might be an evil clone.

"Who exactly did you see?" Roy asks. 

"He's Red Hood," Dick says. "And before you call me crazy, let me finish." Maybe Roy is the wrong person to talk to about this, but Dick doesn't have other good options. "He took the mask off. It's him."

"No shit?" says Roy. "So your boy is a killer now."

"Don't," Dick says shortly. But to be fair, Dick always had questions about Jason. "He mostly wants to kill the Joker."

"I don't know what he mostly wants, but everyone even all the way out here knows he's been cutting a swathe through Gotham," Roy says. "Mowing down gangsters like grass."

"Yeah," Dick says. "Well, but gangsters." He could never even _start_ to have this conversation with Bruce, but the worst that'll happen here is that Dick will have to kick Roy out of his apartment.

"Well, that's okay, then," Roy says. "How'd he come back?"

"I don't know," Dick says. "But it's definitely him. He let me hug him." He can still feel the way Jason went stiff when Dick tried, but he let him.

"Well, he came back a psycho," Roy says.

"Hello, shut up," Dick says. "Do I talk shit about your friends? He's really important to me, Roy." Dick has plenty of opinions about the people Roy hangs out with, or has hung out with.

"That doesn't mean he's not a psycho," Roy says. "If you really care about him so much, you probably should start by being honest with yourself--that guy's snapped."

Dick doesn't know. He doesn't know anything about Jason. "I'm not being crazy," he says. "I'm taking precautions. But I had a conversation with him, and he warned me that some of the creeps in Gotham are coming after Robin. That doesn't sound like _snapped_ to me."

Roy shrugs it off. "Any more details than that?" he asks.

"He didn't know more," Dick says. "But it's Two-Face and the Scarecrow, so it's not good." It occurs to Dick that Jason probably knows because he's been hanging out with them. Them and the Riddler.

"Yeah, those are creeps," Roy says. "Did you tell _him_?" Roy doesn't care much about Batman either way, but Dick always suspects he has a bit of a grudge because Bruce is moderately professional with Ollie Queen.

"No," Dick says. "Not in a million years. He'd lose his mind if he was sure about Jason, and he'd be in my business way more than he already is."

Roy considers. "I guess if he found out what Jason's doing he'd have a reaction," he contemplates.

"The last thing I want is Bruce focused on Jason again," Dick says, which, when he says it out loud, sounds pathetic and needy.

"He was always a little weird about him," says Roy. 

"Even though Jason fucked up way more than I did," Dick says. It _is_ needy, but Roy gets it.

"I'm telling you," says Roy. "Psycho."

"I'm telling you, he's _not_ ," Dick says, shoving Roy's shoulder hard.

"Then he's just a stone-cold killer, which isn't better, is it?" Roy says.

"Look, I didn't tell you so you could complain about him," Dick says, annoyed. "I told you because he's basically my little brother and he came back to life and he's _okay._ I mean, killing people and dating the Riddler, but basically okay."

"Look, I'm s--what?" says Roy. 

"What?" Dick says. "Oh, the Riddler? Yeah."

Roy says, "But you're sure he's okay, huh? The Riddler. Yikes."

"Well, come on, given the options, it could be worse," Dick says.

Roy makes a face. "Kind of pathetic, don't you think? At least go for...I don't know, Poison Ivy?"

"Not everybody is bi, Roy," Dick says wearily. "Ivy would _not_ go for Jason." And Dick doesn't really know who Jason's attracted to. The fact that he's dating the Riddler doesn't really answer that question.

"Okay, not Ivy, then. But I don't get it, if he's so crazy about killing criminals, why is he fucking one?"

"We didn't really have time to sit down and catch up," Dick says. "And he wasn't very forthcoming." Jason never has been, about anything in his life, and he's probably always had more going on than any of them knew about.

Roy shrugs. "So. Little brother's back, banging criminals and killing people, and you don't want to tell dad. Sounds like a fun recipe."

"That pretty much sums it up," Dick says, although if nobody ever refers to Bruce as _dad_ again, he'll be happy. "What, do you think I should tell?"

"I don't know," Roy says. "He's going to figure it out, right?" 

"So why tell him," Dick says. "Right?"

"He'll probably figure out you knew first," Roy says. "But then, you don't really have a sharing relationship these days. Maybe he'll let it go."

"No, he'll be mad," Dick says. "But I don't really care. Jason trusted me enough to warn me, so I'm not going to go running to Bruce. I do have to watch Tim, though." How he's going to get away with that without Bruce thinking it's weird is a mystery.

"You could tell Bruce you got a tip without being like, 'Oh, by the way, your dead sidekick is alive and hates your guts.'"

"Yeah, true," Dick says. "Maybe I'll just mention it to Tim." He avoids talking to Bruce whenever he possibly can. It's just not worth the stress.

"Mention it to Tim," Roy advises. "Jeez. Your night was weirder than mine, wasn't it?"

"If you're going to tell me about your sex life with Grace again…" Dick says, resigned.

"What? We weren't banging," Roy says. "There was a tentacle monster, but we _didn't_ bang."

"Uh huh," Dick says. "Let's get coffee and you can tell me about it." He tries to put Jason out of his head, but he makes sure to text Tim an obscure warning first.

Roy waits for him to send off his text, and then says, "Do you need a shower first? I could take another shower." His hair is just starting to dry.

Dick starts to say, "You just showered," but his brain catches up with his mouth and he instead he says, "Uh, yes. Yeah. I do."

"Great," says Roy. He shucks off his coat, then leans in to grab Dick by the chin and pull him into a kiss.

Dick kisses back, pulling Roy close. He's always surprised when Roy kisses him, even when they're one hundred percent together. That's probably a self-esteem thing.

"Come on," Roy murmurs into his mouth, and drags him to the bathroom.

**TIM**

Dick texts Tim at 4:23 in the morning. Tim doesn't see Bruce until 7:06 that night. It gives him a lot of time to think about what to say to Bruce. Dick specifically said not to tell Bruce where the information came from, but Tim can't think of a good reason why. Bruce is pretty cool toward Dick sometimes, but this is a legitimate warning. However strange it is. Tim doesn't really need a warning about two people who usually want to kill him anyway.

He's still thinking pretty hard about this when he meets Bruce at the cave.

Bruce is at his terminal, scrolling through news stories and pulling up files. 

"Someone spotted what they described as a large swimming creature in the Grant Park pond," Bruce says, without turning. "Biting people. Given the description, I think we might have a Killer Croc sighting."

"That's good," Tim says. He focuses and readjusts what he's saying. "I mean, I'm glad we're on top of it." There has to be a good way to ask Bruce if there's anything on Two-Face on the Scarecrow tonight. "Anything else?"

"A couple of smaller crimes, but the police have handled them. I can take Killer Croc on my own." Bruce leans back in his chair and turns to Tim with a smile. "You could take the night off. Or you could patrol downtown. I trust you to do the job."

Well, that's forcing Tim's hand. Normally he'd jump at the chance to patrol alone, but he's not stupid. He's also not going to take the night off.

"I have some--uh, concerns about patrolling alone," he says. It's really hard to say that, in the wake of _I trust you._

Bruce frowns. "You're usually more enthusiastic about the prospect. What's wrong?" 

"I got an anonymous tip," Tim says. After all, those were Dick's words. "Two-Face and the Scarecrow have plans to do something to me specifically."

Bruce tenses. 

"Anonymous tip?" he asks, which wouldn't have been Tim's first point of concern.

"Yeah," Tim says. Oh, he did not spend enough of his day thinking of lies to back that one up.

"How did this anonymous person contact you?" Bruce demands. 

"...Text," Tim says. Wrong answer. Insane answer. Bruce will ask how they got his number.

Bruce stands up abruptly. "Someone _knows who you are_?" he barks. 

"No!" Tim says. "I mean--it wasn't anonymous to _me_. I'm just not supposed to tell you who sent it. Okay?"

"No," says Bruce.

Right. Obviously not. "It's not somebody bad," Tim says. "And the tip was originally anonymous. I think. Can we focus on the part where two really dangerous people want to kill me?"

"Who was it?" Bruce says, unstoppable. The text thing was really a mistake. "No, it could only have been a few people. Was it Nightwing?"

"No," Tim says smoothly. "Bruce, it doesn't matter." He mentally apologizes to Dick for how quickly he's going to screw him over.

"If it wasn't Nightwing, we have a problem," Bruce says.

"It was," Tim says. "He really didn't want me to tell you. He was afraid you'd give him the third degree, I think." He gives Bruce a pointed look.

Bruce relaxes slightly. "All right, it was Nightwing," he says. "Where did he get this information that he wanted you to lie to me about?"

"He didn't say," Tim says patiently. "Anonymous tip?" He's gotten a lot bolder with what he'll say to Bruce.

"Hm," says Bruce. "Well, I can always ask him. Did he have anything more helpful to say?"

"It sounds like that's all he knew," Tim says. "I don't think it changes much, but it might be a mistake to go out alone." If Bruce asks him to, though, he will. "Oh, or we could, and set a trap."

"We should probably find out what they're up to before we set any kind of trap," Bruce says. "But you're right. If they've got their eyes on you especially, better not give them any opportunities. Go home, Tim."

Tim is crestfallen. The last thing he wants is to go home. It feels like he failed. "Do I have to?"

"You don't have to, but you should," Bruce says. "There aren't that many opportunities to rest up. Might as well take them."

"I don't want to rest up," Tim says. "I want to go out with you and catch Killer Croc and maybe find out more about why people have it in for me. Or why someone's telling Nightwing they do. We don't even know if it's true."

Bruce hesitates. "Suit up, then," he says. "I'm sure we'll find something for you to do out there."

There's always something for Tim to do. Blindingly grateful, he scrambles into his suit in record time. He hopes Two-Face or the Scarecrow does try something. He feels ready.

**BRUCE**

Bruce sends Killer Croc to jail and sends Tim home. He escorts him most of the way, and makes him check in when he arrives. He goes home himself, at that point, but he doesn't go to bed. He combs through every recent thing about Two-Face and the Scarecrow. He doesn't like to have half-answers, and that is what Dick has given him--in a particularly roundabout way. Which puts Dick next on his list. If Dick isn't interested in talking to him, that's not Bruce's problem; Dick is going to talk to him. 

He waits until Dick is on shift and tracks him until his partner has gone inside at a convenience store, leaving Dick idling in the car. Then he jumps down on the hood.

To his credit, Dick doesn't panic. He does stick his head out the window and say, "Jesus Christ. Are you serious?"

"Officer Grayson," says Batman. "I have a question for you."

"This is so inappropriate," Dick mutters. "What, you couldn't have waited until I was moonlighting?"

"I might have, except someone made it sound urgent," Batman says. 

Dick sighs. "I don't know what you're--Oh, no, I think I do." He grimaces. "Okay, what do you want?" He's always all business with Bruce these days. 

"I want to know where you got your tip," Bruce says. "And when. And what it means."

"I can't answer that," Dick says. "Well, I can tell you when. Last night. But I don't know what it means. The person telling me didn't know. They just overheard something."

Batman says, "Very specific."

"Yeah," Dick says. "Can I help you with anything else?" He glances toward the convenience store. "I'm allowed to protect my sources, Batman. Nobody would tell me anything otherwise."

Batman stares down at him, unmoved. "You're putting him in danger," he says.

"That's a take," Dick mutters. "No, I'm not. Two-Face and the Scarecrow are. Who I got it from doesn't have any bearing on the situation, and you can't come and threaten me over it."

"No one's threatening," says Batman. "But if you know more, you should tell me." 

"Noted," Dick says. He doesn't follow it up with anything else. Bruce sees his finger twitch over the button to roll his window up.

"Dick," he growls. 

"I can't," Dick snaps. "It was one of--them, kind of, and they won't keep telling me _anything_ if I run back to you with it. I'm handling it, okay?" Dick does not have a history of handling things.

"You're putting him at risk," Batman says, “to protect a criminal?"

"To protect a _source_ ," Dick says with infuriating patience. "And he's not at risk. You wouldn't get more out of my source than I did, because he doesn't _know_."

"Working with the other side," Batman starts.

"Is not what I'm doing!" Dick snaps. "Okay, enough. Get off my car before I start driving with you on it."

"If he gets hurt and you could have stopped it," Batman says, "you will regret it."

"Probably," Dick says. "But I honestly don't think it will help. You know I'd do anything for him." He glances at the convenience store again. "But I don't do just anything for you."

Batman clenches his jaw. 

"I don't expect anything else," he says. 

"God, you always sound so disappointed," Dick says. "I'm being a responsible adult. You should try it sometime."

Batman says, “Come to me directly next time. Don’t make him keep secrets.”

Dick just looks at him. Finally he says, "You're not my boss anymore."

“You know that’s for the best,” says Batman. “But Robin is my responsibility.” Before Dick can answer, Batman spins on his heels and leaps away into the night. 

**TIM**

Tim is more tense on patrol after Dick's warning. It shouldn't feel like new information, because people are always out to get him, but it worries him. Bruce won't send him on patrols by himself, which is fine, but it also puts him on alert because he wants to do a perfect job for Bruce.

None of that puts him in a good frame of mind for catching the right details. He and Bruce are out together, on a rooftop, and he keeps seeing movement out of the corner of his eye. There's nothing there.

“What is it?” asks Bruce, who misses nothing.

Tim swallows. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

“Mm,” says Bruce. He still glances in the direction of Tim’s gaze. 

"Should we try to track down Two-Face and Scarecrow?" Tim asks. Anything would be better than waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Don’t think I’m not looking into it,” Bruce says. “Be patient. Something is going to happen here. We are in the right place.”

Of course he didn’t tell Tim what they’re looking for, but he’s usually right about this stuff. 

Tim nods and stays quiet. He wants to be as good as Bruce, someday, so he's going to mirror Bruce as closely as possible. He pays attention to his breathing and tries to shut out any distractions.

It’s not long before a couple of people arrive from two different directions: two women, bending their heads close and muttering in conversation. 

“They're on their way home from a nice evening out," Bruce says. “Passing off stolen diamonds.”

"Just tell me when to go," Tim says. He's itching to move around and shake off this freaked-out feeling.

Bruce holds up a finger like a flag, but before he can swing it down, something shoots down from the rooftop on the other side of the street, and one of the women goes _down_ with it on top of her.

"Go?" Tim asks, but he's already moving.

"Robin!" Bruce says sharply, but it's too late to stop now. Tim is jumping down into whatever danger waits below, and _danger_ is getting into a full on fist fight with both women at the same time.

Tim swings down and crashes into the intruder, knocking them to the ground. His target grunts, aims a punch at Tim--and then doesn't land the blow. He jumps to his feet instead, and knocks down one of the women.

"Fuck!" he says, shaking out his fist.

Bruce lands next to Tim. "You," he says, in a voice Tim doesn't recognize.

"Are you seriously trying to beat up women?" Tim demands. He should be taking cues from Bruce, but he's too rattled.

"Do you seriously care that they're women?" says the stranger, sounding baffled. His voice is a little muffled through his-- _oh._

Tim doesn't answer, because he's suddenly absolutely sure that he's not allowed to talk to this one. Bruce has told him so a dozen times.

One of the two women gets up and starts to make a break for it. Red Hood reaches for her, but Bruce grabs her first, and yanks her out of his range. 

"Excuse the fuck out of you," Red Hood says. "I was here first."

"You shouldn't be here at all," Bruce says, but his voice is strained.

"Who are we stopping?" Tim asks. "All three of them?" Bruce can't _really_ say anything about him talking to Red Hood if they're right next to each other like this, can he?

"You worry about them," Bruce says, pushing his captive Tim's way. "I'll worry about him."

Red Hood takes a step back. 

Tim grabs the woman's arm while trying to keep an eye on Bruce and Red Hood. He doesn't have enough eyes, though, and he needs to watch the other woman, in case she tries to escape. "We're taking you in," he tells the women seriously.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" one of them says. Tim believes Bruce about the diamonds, but it’s true that they’re nowhere to be seen right now, and Tim can’t do much about that.

"Batman," says Red Hood in the kind of friendly voice that in this line of work usually leads up to someone trying to kill you. 

"Red Hood," Bruce growls.

"Batman, be careful," Tim says, which he knows is completely unnecessary and unwanted feedback.

Red Hood laughs. 

"Watch yourself," Batman growls. 

"Do I really need to bother? _You've_ been watching me so closely," Red Hood says.

"You can’t assault people like this!" says one of the women. "I'm calling the police."

“Shut up,” says Red Hood. “No you’re not.”

"Go ahead," Tim says. "That's where we're taking you anyway."

"We didn't do anything," one of them protests, but more like she expects to be tackled by Batman than like she is afraid or confused.

Before Tim can do anything or answer back, the other woman kicks him in the knee. When he buckles, she pulls free and runs for it. 

"Shit!" says Red Hood. "What a useful fucking sidekick."

Tim's eyes prickle with tears from the pain and the sudden viciousness of the words. "Sorry," he gasps to Bruce. But he's not going to run after someone and leave Bruce alone with a person Bruce has said is incredibly dangerous.

Red Hood's face is pointed towards Bruce, as far as Tim can tell, but suddenly he reaches out and grabs the other woman from Tim's grip. She screams--he yanks at her hard. Then Bruce is in between them, their target screaming bloody murder and Bruce tearing the whole mess apart. In a second, Tim and the woman are on one side, and Batman is the other, with Red Hood in his grip. His shoulders are hunched with anger. 

In the second of Tim’s distraction, she wrenches herself free and runs.

“Let her go,” Bruce orders him, harshly enough that Tim hears the blame in it.

"I needed her, you stupid--" Red Hood starts, and Batman shakes him.

Tim stays frozen, partly out of instinct to obey Batman and partly out of shock. There's a tiny part of him that's afraid Batman is going to do something he wouldn't normally do. He looks so angry.

"I'll cuff him?" Tim says. It comes out as a question.

Red Hood laughs, a sharp, mean noise. 

"Look at the kid, so eager," he says. "At least a year or two left in him before you grind him up for dog food."

Tim's kind of used to those comments by now. The people they fight know Robin is a weak spot for Batman, so they say all kinds of things. Tim has learned to tune them out, because they're all the same. Some grosser than others, but it's just talk.

"Batman," Tim says.

"Do you know how many of you there have been?" Red Hood says. "And he ruins them all."

"Get out of here," Bruce growls, and Tim isn't sure which of them it's addressed to.

"You'd love that," says Red Hood. "You'd love it if every day I wasn't here to remind you of how much you've fucked up trying to 'protect' this city. Letting kids die, letting monsters live? You're weak. You're disgusting. You're an ego in a dumb costume, and look at you, indoctrinating little boys just like old times!"

"Enough," Tim hears himself say, and he may not sound like Batman yet, but the cadence of his voice is the same. He's not too shaken to step in and grab Red Hood's wrist to try to cuff him. He's filing away every word of this, though.

Red Hood jerks his hand away. 

"No thanks," he says. "That's not in my plan for tonight."

"You--" starts Bruce.

"You have no idea what I was trying to do," Red Hood says. "And you screwed it up on a fucking vendetta. Good job."

"Who _are_ you?" Tim asks. Bruce is going to kill him later. He's not following protocol at all at this point.

"Ask Batman," Red Hood says. "I'm sure he has some theories. Maybe one of them is even right."

"That's enough," Bruce says, but he still hasn't arrested him--he's just holding Red Hood by the arm and staring at him like something terrible.

"Batman," Tim says urgently. "I'm going to arrest him." Maybe that will unfreeze Bruce and things will go back to normal.

"Do you really want that?" Red Hood demands.

"Take off your mask," says Batman.

"You _don't_ want that," Red Hood says. "Not with the kiddo right there."

"I can handle it," Tim says sharply. He would prefer what the horrible truth is--scars like Two-Face's, or someone Bruce used to be friends with who kills people now, or Tim can't even imagine what else. Anything would be better than the horrible, blank hood.

"If you arrest me," Red Hood says, "I'm going to rub your face in it. Your actual, public face. I can destroy you."

Tim is rocked. "Batman?" he says thickly. How would Red Hood _know_ that?

“Take it off!” Bruce roars.

He and Red Hood scuffle, and Red Hood gets hit somehow. He staggers back—smaller but meaner than Bruce—and says, “I’d rather watch you suffer.” 

Tim can't take it anymore. He launches himself at Red Hood, crashing into him with the full force of his bony elbow.

Red Hood goes down with a grunt. Bruce says, “Robin!” and his hand claps down over Tim’s shoulder. 

On the ground, Red Hood laughs.

“Jesus,” he says. He climbs to his feet, edging away. “I can see this is going to keep getting shittier, so I’m gonna go find something to do that doesn’t have you assholes fucking it up.”

“Don’t!” says Bruce. 

“No, I think I will,” says Red Hood. He spins away and starts running.

"After him?" Tim asks, breathless. He thinks he did a good job.

Bruce is completely silent. 

"Batman," Tim says urgently. Something is very wrong.

“We’re done,” Batman says. “I’m bringing you home.”

"I don't understand," Tim says. He hates it when Batman shuts down like this. It makes him feel sick with panic. "What was that?"

“Red Hood,” says Bruce uselessly.

"I know," Tim says, "but…" He puts his hand on Batman's arm. He just wants to help. Batman isn't supposed to look so lost.

“It’s not for you to worry about,” says Bruce. “Just keep out of his way.”

It feels like a blow. Bruce will never, ever treat Tim like he's part of the team, no matter how long Tim has been around. "Okay," he says. His voice comes out strangled.

Bruce isn’t the kind of person who reassures people. Tim knows that. It still hurts that Bruce doesn’t answer the distress in his voice, just turns away with the expectation that Tim will follow. 

Tim does.


	5. Several Fractures

**EDDIE**

Eddie has been jumpy for weeks, which is really nothing new. They go through cycles. Whatever. Spending time with Jay helps, even though Jay contributes to the jumpiness. Eddie has started leaving their window open a crack, even though it's cold out, in case Jay needs to get in during the night. 

It's a good thing, too. Tonight Jay turns up in the middle of the night with bloody knuckles, tearing his mask off halfway into the room.

"Hey," Eddie says. By now, this isn't an unfamiliar sight, but Jay looks especially upset tonight. "What happened?"

Jay slams the window shut behind him, not hard. 

“Batman,” he says. “With his new kid.”

Oh. Eddie has been waiting for this. Nobody likes the new kid--well, Eddie does, a little--but Jay must like him least of all. "What happened?"

“They jumped me in the middle of a sting. Let my targets get away because they were too busy yelling at me. I needed those fucking diamonds, too.”

Eddie winces. "Ouch. Do they--know?" The kid is good at riddles. So's Batman. You'd think they'd know.

“Batman knows. He just wants me to admit it,” Jay says. “New kid doesn’t know. You think he’s going to be trouble?” He sounds tired. 

"Come sit down," Eddie says, patting the bed. "And yes, definitely. He's way too smart. Almost as smart as me, maybe." And if the kid's trouble for Eddie and the others, he's almost certainly more trouble for Jay.

"He's a little clone, isn't he," Jay says. "Not like me."

Eddie's not the psychiatrist in this town, so they're not going to wade into this one, although they have their feelings about it. "He's a detective," they say. "Kind of a closed book. A lot of us have been trying to open it. If you're going to kill him, let me know and I won't waste the time."

"I'm not going to hurt him," Jay snaps. 

Eddie flinches instinctively. It's been a useful instinct in past relationships. But Jay isn't that person, so Eddie takes a breath and shakes it off. "All right," they say. "What _are_ you going to do?"

"Kill the Joker," Jay says. “You know that.”

Eddie does, but it's interesting that it's coming up now, in the context of new Robin. "Before he does something we generally all regret?" they ask. "Is this a preventative measure now?"

"I think it's a little late for that, don't you?" Jay says. "I'm going to kill him for everything he is." 

"Mm," Eddie says. It makes sense, but it still sounds a little like bluster. It's not like they're completely against the plan. They just really don't think it will work.

Jay tenses next to them. "If you don't think I can do it, fine," he says. "But I am. What's he going to do, kill me twice?"

"Well," Eddie says. They swallow a little jolt of panic. Yeah, that's exactly what he's going to do, and how does Jay not get that?

"Thanks for the faith," says Jay. "What do you think I'm even back here for? Gotham is a shithole, it was always a shithole. I'm here to kill him and nothing else. If Batman won't do what's fucking right, I will. And then…"

"And then?" Eddie asks. Nobody can burn as hot as Jay without burning out. "What, you'll kill Batman? You'll kill the kid? What then?"

"It doesn't matter," says Jay. 

"It matters to me," Eddie says. " _I'll_ still be here. And you'll still be dealing with just as much shit, whether he's dead or not."

Jay looks at them, and gives a small shake of his head like they’re being incoherent. 

"I don't want you to kill him and then find out you're still scared and miserable," Eddie says. "Been there, done that." It was different, but still. "I'm telling you I want to plan for this because I'm going to be there with you through the whole thing."

"Who's scared?" says Jay. "I'm pissed. And I don't care what happens after."

"I care!" Eddie snaps. "Stupid! If you kill him and fall apart, I care!"

"I'm not--" starts Jay. Then he puts his head in his hands. "If Batman had just killed him, things would be different," he says. "I don't know what I'd be doing. But he didn't. He couldn't even do that one fucking thing for me."

"Batman is a piece of shit," Eddie agrees. They put their arms around Jay. "You deserve better." They stroke Jay's hair, giving it a gentle tug.

Jay leans against them, sagging heavy. "The kid is stupid. Batman will ruin his life just like he ruined the rest of us. He's so stupid."

Eddie plays with Jay's hair and thinks about that. "Well. You could try to get him to see that. I don't think he's got a lot of _vision_ , but it's worth a try. Since you're worried." If Jay denies that, so be it, but he clearly _is_ worried.

“I hate him,” Jay says.

"Yeah, and," Eddie says. They give Jay's hair another little tug.

He leans his head against the crook of Eddie’s shoulder. It’s a rare, sweet motion. Even with Eddie Jay doesn’t usually let this much of his guard down.

Eddie holds on tight and says quietly, "I've got your back. I'll help, whatever you want to do." Stupid thing to promise, but Eddie's feeling stupid.

“You shouldn’t give people that kind of leverage,” Jay says. “They take advantage. You’ll get hurt.”

Eddie frowns, putting pieces together. "Are you talking about Jon?"

Jay doesn’t answer immediately, which reads kind of like a yes. 

"I was hoping you were more out of it," Eddie says unhappily. They're hoping everyone was, honestly. Jon sometimes forgets things, and Eddie hasn't heard from him or Harvey in weeks.

“I’m sorry I fucked you over, getting hurt,” Jay says. “I won’t let them do anything to you.” 

"No," Eddie says. "No, no, I want you out of that mess. It's mine to deal with. I can handle Jon." They can. It might hurt, or be humiliating or terrifying, but then it will be over.

Jay says, “I already promised them.” Eddie feels him wince. “I thought you wouldn’t find out and I could tell you after, if it helped.”

"What the fuck," Eddie says all in a rush, suddenly cold. "You promised them _what?_ "

Jay sits up and leans back to see them clearly. He suddenly looks anxious. “Told them I’d do their favor instead,” he says, like he’s ready to fight. 

" _Shit,_ " Eddie says, almost in tears. "They like me! They don't like you at all!" In their head they're going, _You did that for me. Holy shit._

“It’ll be fine,” Jay says. “They’ll do something shitty and then they’ll know I’m really on your side, right?”

"I don't want them to do something shitty to you!" Eddie says, furious. Jon and Harvey are going to be sorry.

“Shitty things happen to me all the time,” Jay says. “It doesn’t matter. As long as I can kill the Joker, I don’t care.”

Eddie is about to keep yelling, but the stupid stuff coming out of Jay's mouth is stuff that comes out of Eddie's mouth all the time.

"Can we both just...not?" Eddie says. "Not let shitty stuff happen to us for a second?"

Jay presses his lips together. “Do you have an idea how to do that?” he asks. “I don’t know how to do that.”

"I don't," Eddie says. "But I don't want either of us to do what Harvey and Jon want. They're being shitty friends." Eddie knows part of that--a big part?--is jealousy, but that doesn't make it any better.

“You have shitty friends,” Jay agrees.

"I don't know what to do," Eddie says, "but can we do it together, whatever it is?" Eddie is great at solving problems when they're about other people.

“What happens if neither of us does a favor?” Jay asks curiously.

Eddie considers. "It depends what kind of moods they're in. You may have noticed how much that changes." Jon is as bad as Harvey, if not worse.

“I can’t believe you put up with their shit,” Jay says. “But whatever. If you don’t want us to do it we won’t.”

"They're good to have on your side," Eddie says. "When they are on your side." It sounds like a weak defense even to them.

“I’m not going to repeat what they said to me,” Jay says. His voice shakes. “But I don’t think it’s fucking worth it.”

Eddie swallows. "Okay," they say. "Okay, noted, I guess." There hasn't been a lot to pick from, in terms of friends. Maybe that's different now.

Jay shrugs, then sighs. “Great night so far,” he says.

"Let's improve it," Eddie says, deciding. "Let's watch a movie. I have Netflix now! I'll kiss you." They miss the obvious "Netflix and chill" joke opportunity, which is probably fine, because Jay doesn't always get pop culture references.

“You’re really nice,” Jay says. “I wish I’d known that before.”

"The context was very wrong for knowing that," Eddie says, squeezing Jason's shoulders. "Don't beat yourself up."

Jay shoots them an exhausted look. “--I don’t think there’s an after,” he says out of nowhere. “I know where I’m headed and then there’s nothing else.”

"Is that what you want?" Eddie says sharply. All _they_ want in this moment is to keep hanging onto Jay.

Jay stares into the room, looking older than usual, sharper. 

“I don’t think I care,” he says. “If I can do what I’m supposed to. There’s nothing else left.”

"Nothing?" Eddie asks. Some riddles take a long time to unravel. Jay has taken ages already, especially because he hasn't even unravelled himself.

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings,” Jay says. “I like you a lot.”

"I wasn't worried about that," Eddie says. " _You'll_ be left. I don't think you're too far gone for that to matter."

For a second, Jay looks like he knows everything—like a tidal wave is about to hit him and break him on the rocks. Behind the fear is something pleading to be seen and caught. But it’s only a second. Then Jay bends down to untie his bootlaces.

“A movie is good. Something with a lot of action in it,” he says, like this part of the conversation didn’t even happen. “Or romcom. I like romcoms.” A little defensive.

Eddie carefully sets aside the sudden surge of rage in their chest at everyone who did this to Jay. "Yeah," they say. "Romcoms are good."

**JON**

Jon is at the Iceberg Lounge, because Jon has been at the Iceberg Lounge every day for a week. Harvey got annoyed with Oswald, a month ago, two, maybe. A while ago. Anyway, he isn’t here. He won’t be here. Jonathan goes to his office, and goes here, and goes home, and in between he watches the road in front of him and his rear view mirrors and doesn’t go down any dark alleys. Not speaking to anyone but patients is helping. Being alone is fine.

So far, no one here has bothered him, and that’s another good thing about Oswald and his kingdom. Oswald, always a gracious host, usually leaves Jon alone when he's here. 

Today, however, Oswald stops by his table with a drink.

"You look like you could use this," he says, taking a seat across from him. Jon has seen him do this with other guests, so it doesn't feel too pointed.

He painfully lowers his book, but leaves a finger tucked between the pages.

“Won’t say no,” Jon says. He sounds stiff. He should unbend. “How are you?”

"Oh, fine," Oswald says breezily. "Business is good, as you can see. And the parts you can't see." He's always refreshingly unworried about all the elements of what he does. "And you? You've taken a sudden interest in socializing, I've noticed." Whether that's a jab or whether he really thinks that's why Jon is here is unclear.

“I wouldn’t say so,” says Jonathan, pointedly holding his book.

"Funny place to read," Oswald says, not unkindly.

Jon says, “I can also go.”

"No, no," Oswald says, waving his hand. "That's not what I meant at all. I've just never known you to like my club much. I'm more likely to see Harvey here, or even Eddie. Haven't seen Eddie lately," he adds thoughtfully.

“That ended months ago,” says Jonathan stiffly. “And Harvey doesn’t like you.”

Oswald laughs, and there's an edge to it. "No," he says. "Doesn't like competition, you mean. This city is big enough for everyone, but he doesn't always remember that. Don't go running home and telling him I said that." He pushes the drink toward Jonathan.

Jonathan takes it. The cold glass gives him a jolt of something, sends his thoughts gliding around inside his head like the flakes in a snowglobe.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he says, with his mouth, somewhere.

Oswald nods. "Good. So you and Eddie--? You're not going to be bringing them around?" Oswald has always liked Eddie, Jonathan thinks, the way someone might like a puppy they’re a little concerned and irritated by.

“It seems very unlikely,” says Jon. He doesn’t want to think about this. “They’re not very interested in my company anymore.”

"Your company?" Oswald asks. "Not Harvey's?"

“No one’s,” snaps Jon. Then he smiles. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

"If I couldn't handle a little rudeness, I would have run you off years ago," Oswald says mildly. "Sorry to bring it up."

Eddie shouldn’t even _be_ a sore subject by now. They left. They left ages ago, and if Jon is being entirely honest, nothing he and Harvey did afterwards helped anything. So Eddie doesn’t want him. He knows that. He understands. It shouldn’t matter. And if Eddie doesn’t have to matter, none of it does. 

“No,” says Jon. “No, that’s fine, Oswald.”

"They'll be back," Oswald says. "Because Harvey will want it that way, if nothing else." Oswald loves to talk as if he knows situations that have nothing to do with him.

“That’s it?” Jon says, and it comes out nastily. “Harvey snaps his fingers and we come crawling?”

"I didn't say you," Oswald says, "I said Eddie. I doubt you'd want to leave. You seem to have something good going. Two of a kind."

“What does that mean?” Jonathan asks. He takes a drink. He wishes he didn’t take a drink, because it’s too strong and tastes like smoke.

"I always think of you and Harvey in one league and Eddie in another," Oswald says. "No sharp edges, that one."

Sharp enough. Oswald doesn’t know. Eddie didn’t leave Oswald, with no one but Harvey. Eddie would never say, to Oswald, the things they said to Jon when they left, because Eddie likes to play ball and get places and Oswald is not something they’re utterly done with.

“Sometimes I think I should kill them and put them out of the misery of being so soft,” Jon says. He tells himself that, and Oswald, too, like being angry really is the same as wanting someone dead.

"I hope you don't," Oswald says. "I like them. They're a little high-maintenance, but all right."

Jon says, “Good for you.” He doesn’t want to be here anymore.

Oswald frowns. "Are you all right?"

Someone had asked that, when Harvey threw him out like that. Just one person? Jon thinks just one person, but it’s hard to remember, because it was so fast and he couldn’t think and it was cold, and other people--were there, reacting differently. Jeering. Calling the police. Reacting not as well.

“I’m fine, Oswald,” he says. He feels like he’s freezing. “I just came here to read.” 

"Well, you can certainly do that," Oswald says. He's still looking at Jon like he wants to get to the bottom of him, but Jon can see him starting to back off, too. He has other patrons, after all.

Harvey, Jon thinks, hasn’t told him.

Harvey, Jon thinks, maybe hasn’t told anyone.

It makes him furious and pleased at the same time. Jon did something Harvey didn’t want, and Harvey is still hoping Jon takes it back. That must be what it means. Harvey is proud. Harvey loves control. Harvey wouldn’t want anyone to know that he lost control, and that someone he wanted to want him stopped wanting.

Impulsively, Jon slams his book down, and says, “I left!”

"I'm sorry?" Oswald says. He settles again, drawn back in.

“I left Harvey,” says Jon. The words feel--no, he refuses for them to be terrifying. He refuses that. Nothing bad is going to happen because he’s taking precautions, and it’s right, because he’s free. If there’s pain it’s because the human brain hates change.

"I had no idea," Oswald says. He glances around the club, which makes the paranoid part of Jonathan's brain activate again. "What happened?"

Maybe Jon was talking too fast, maybe Jon was too excited, maybe Harvey didn’t like Jon’s idea for Red Hood and Jon didn’t let it go. Maybe normal things are always dangerous mistakes, and Jon is tired of that. 

Thinking about it brings down shame and fear and anger. Harvey hurt him, he still hurts, but Harvey humiliated him, too. He’s done that a lot. They’re supposed to be a team.

“I don’t get my way enough,” Jon says. “I’m a particular person. I can admit that. I like to have my way.”

"Ah, well," Oswald says. "That's certainly true." He looks Jon over shrewdly, appearing to reevaluate him. "Explosive breakup, or--?"

“Oswald,” says Jon, hating it as he says the words. “Is Harvey any other way?”

"You make a good point," Oswald says sympathetically. Not pityingly, Jon thinks. Just as if he knows Harvey, or at least some of Harvey. Harvey is good at keeping some things quiet. "Well, you're welcome any time. I'd much rather see you come around than him, to be quite honest."

The club is large and dark and crowded and the security is quiet and substantial. Oswald has never been a threat to Jon, not because he’s weak. Just because he hasn’t wanted to be. 

“I’m sure I’ll be here,” he says. “You keep such a nice establishment.”

"I keep it that way by being picky about my clientele," Oswald says casually. "Anyway, drinks are on me this week."

Jon looks down at his book and runs a thumb against the the edges of the pages.

“Thank you,” he says. “You’re very generous.”

"I like staying friendly with powerful players and people I get along with. That's you," Oswald says. "But starting next week, you're paying for drinks." He stands up. "You're always welcome to come by, though, even if it's every day. It's nice to see you here with your book."

Jonathan doesn’t want to answer that, so he doesn’t answer that. He does feel a little different, though, even when Oswald walks away.

**EDDIE**

Eddie wakes up still angry. They stay angry all through the day, even after Jay leaves to go do whatever he does. They try to focus on a puzzle box they're building, and they can't.

So when it finally gets dark, they go out and trap a bunch of people inside a club. The patrons can't come out unless they solve a series of puzzles. Or until Batman shows up.

It takes a couple of hours--Batman must have other things on his mind than the clubgoers of Gotham--but he does turn up, a looming, fluttering spectre of black, peering at Eddie with a grim, flat mouth.

"I didn't have time for your games tonight, Riddler," he says.

"Actually," Eddie says, "I'm not playing." This is dangerous, and stupid, and they're going to get hurt, but as they know, and Jay knows, that's unavoidable.

Batman looms _harder?_ somehow? But Eddie doesn't balk. Batman says, "I don't enjoy enigmas, either. But I will crack them."

"I'll give you this one for free," Eddie says. "What means less every time you say it?"

Batman narrows his eyes. "I'm sorry?" he says.

"Only you never say it in the first place, do you?" Eddie demands. "Even when you really, really should."

"What's this about?" growls Batman. Was he always this grumpy?

Eddie has considered, for several hours, whether to call him Red Hood or the fake name he gave. In this moment, it seems obvious they can't say Red Hood.

"Jay," they say. "Solve that one."

Batman breathes in sharply. "What did you say?" he says, barely more than a whisper.

Eddie freezes. Oh, oh god. It's his real name. That's better than Eddie expected, in several ways. "Jay," they say again, confident.

"Tell me where you heard that name," Batman says. His voice is shaking--with fury? With something else? Eddie has never heard him sound quite like this before.

"He told me," Eddie says. "Because he doesn't have anyone else. Because you didn't care enough to avenge his death and you abandoned him when it turned out it didn't stick." 

"No," says Batman. "No." He's shaking his head, at which part Eddie doesn't know.

"Yes," Eddie says. "He's in trouble with some very bad people because _you_ don't give a shit." Batman probably thinks Eddie is very bad people. Let him, for now.

"He's--" Batman-- _Batman_ \--sounds sick. He is absolutely rigid, and it's clear he's forgotten all about Eddie's club full of unhappy people. "He's alive?"

"You didn't know?" Eddie realizes they sound shocked, disgusted, all those things, and they're glad. "God, how badly must you have failed that he didn't even let you solve that one?"

"Where is he?" Batman says raggedly. "I have to see him. Prove to me that you're telling the truth."

"Isn't his name proof enough?" Eddie says. "And you've seen him. He told me. He told me how you keep fucking up what he's trying to do for Gotham."

"Red Hood," says Batman.

"You're so bad at this," Eddie says. "But you're worse at acting human. I wish he'd never met you. He deserves so much better."

"Tell me how to find him," Batman says. "Tell me where he is."

"You don't deserve that," Eddie says. "Do you get that? You lost your chance." They almost lose their nerve out of some kind of superstition, but they say it. "You couldn't even kill the Joker for him."

Batman reacts. Eddie doesn't expect Batman to react--for years he's just sort of slammed into Eddie (and hit them, and cuffed them, and jailed them, and insulted them) like a cape-wearing brick wall. He's implacable. He's unstoppable. But Eddie says this, and Batman's whole body gives a hard shiver. Not a sound--just an involuntary motion, while he stares down at Eddie like someone has plucked his voice out of him.

"And he hates you for it," Eddie says calmly. "But he's got me now."

"If you're lying," says Batman. "If he's dead, and you told me this--none of your friends can help you."

Eddie gives him the coldest look they can muster. "That would be your best-case scenario, wouldn't it? Dead and not a problem anymore."

"The hell with you!" Batman snarls. 

Eddie laughs, feeling a weight lift. "Goodnight, Batman," they say. "I recommend hurrying if you want to save the people in the club."

Batman's head snaps around. He really had forgotten. It's good to know that at least Jay can get that much of his attention. 

"Next time you see him, start with sorry," Eddie says, and they're off, ready to take on the rest of the world for Jay.

**BRUCE**

It takes an hour to free the Riddler's captives from the club. Bruce does not think, not for the entire time he is fighting his way through the Riddler's puzzles. He does not smile when the victims thank him, or return the officers' small talk. He goes home. 

He doesn't see Alfred until he's changed and is walking through the manor, up to his bedroom. 

"Bruce," Alfred says. His tone is neutral, but it's firm enough that Bruce can't just brush it off. Alfred doesn't ask anything. He just looks at Bruce's face and says, "Tea."

Bruce waits in one of the parlors, in a high-backed chair, and nods his thanks when Alfred sets the tray down on the small table beside him.

"Your night went poorly," Alfred suggests. He never lets things lie when Bruce wants him to.

Bruce clings, perhaps weakly, to a last moment of wilful emptiness. He looks at Alfred and says, evenly, "Jason is alive."

Or, he means to say it evenly. It's not.

Alfred breathes in sharply. "That's--You're sure?"

"I--probably," says Bruce. "I've suspected…"

He could be wrong, even still. What if he's wrong? What if all of this is for nothing, what if showing his hand to the Riddler was for nothing, and the Riddler was making a sick game out of forcing him to react?

But he knows. He's known. He was just waiting for Jason to take off the mask. 

"He's Red Hood," says Bruce. “It all fits.”

Alfred sets down his teacup hard. "How is this possible? It's not possible." Alfred, always so contained, looks almost how Bruce feels, but Bruce can see him trying to keep himself together.

"I don't know," says Bruce, and he doesn't--not the mechanics, or the sudden, gaping rift between them. _I'd rather see you suffer._ Bruce has no reason to believe that the Riddler was lying about anything Jason feels. The thing about the Riddler, despite what Alfred says, is that he is obsessively inclined to tell the truth.

"Did you see his face?" Alfred asks. "And even then--Clayface, something else, surely--"

"No," Bruce says. "I didn't see his face." The thought that Red Hood and Riddler have both been lying briefly floods him with relief. Then he thinks of the Riddler accusing him of preferring Jason dead to this, and he feels so sick that it makes him cover his face with his hands.

Alfred immediately goes to Bruce and puts an arm around him, gripping his shoulders. Alfred almost never touches him. "I did wonder," he says. "Some of the footage of him--the way he fights, the things he says. I wondered."

Bruce feels something terrible, a crack that runs through him. 

"You too?" he asks. "For months, I've been suspecting it. Last night, Tim and I saw him, and I was almost sure--and then the Riddler--"

"The Riddler?" Alfred frowns. "I'd take that with a grain of salt. What did he say? And perhaps more importantly, how did he say it? He can twist words."

Bruce rubs his face. "I know. He--he knew Jason's name."

Alfred stiffens. "And yours?" he asks. "He's a genius. If he were to look up Jason's name, year and place of death--it's not a stretch, from there."

Somehow Bruce, of all people, hadn't gotten that far. He's too stupidly stuck on the foremost thing, which is that Jason hates him. Jason is the stranger who's been killing his way across Gotham. Jason is alive and Bruce is the enemy, and Bruce doesn't know how to reach him. Jason doesn't want to be reached. 

"I guess that's true," he says. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

"If Jason is telling those people these things, we have to do something," Alfred says. "He's so angry. Do we really understand why?"

Bruce doesn't want to think about this. Normally it's what he would latch onto, the facts, the practicalities, the dangers. But all he can think of is the real disgust in the Riddler's voice when he was telling Bruce what a failure he is. The rage in Red Hood's when he said Tim would be _ground up for dog food._

"The Joker is free," Bruce says, but that's not it. "The Joker is alive."

Alfred says nothing, which is much worse than anything he could have said. He does grip Bruce's shoulder more tightly.

Bruce chokes. "What if it's real, Alfred?" he asks. "What if it's really him?"

"Then he's certainly... strayed," Alfred says. "But it's Jason. He deserves our help."

Bruce can still feel the weight of Jason's body in his arms. He buried him. He buried him, and then he broke. He doesn't think he ever would have killed the Joker, but what did he do instead? There wasn't any justice at all. He shrank away until--all right, until Tim came, and has gone on trying to be who he was, ever since. While the Joker still runs free and laughing all over Gotham. Bruce has nightmares, but who gives a damn about Bruce's nightmares?

He leans his head against the back of the chair. "I want him back, Alfred," he says, voice hitching. The distance between them feels impossible. Jason is so angry, and Bruce has failed. Even if Jason became less angry, what he’s become…

"If that's possible, you need to make it happen," Alfred says. "Because I don't think it's up to him."

“You agree with him,” Bruce says. “That I’ve failed.”

Alfred sighs and rubs his temples. He rarely shows his age, or shows any signs of exhaustion, but now he does. "I'm not saying I would want you to become a killer. But I understand completely why he's angry."

_Weak. Disgusting. I’d rather see you suffer._

The words, in something close to Jason’s voice, rattle around in Bruce’s skull, alongside recent memories of walking into rooms where Red Hood had been. Rooms, bloody and body-strewn. 

“He’s broken,” Bruce says. “No matter what I’ve failed to do, that doesn’t excuse what he is now. How am I supposed to reconcile with the killer he’s turned into?”

"That's not for me to tell you," Alfred says. "But I do sometimes worry about how quickly one stops helping someone who crosses a line."

Bruce thumps a fist against the arm of his chair. 

“I don’t need you to moralize to me!” he says. “Do you think I want to leave him out there, hurting people? Angry? He’s--there’s no one more _important_ , Alfred! And I don’t know how to save him! I can’t save him!”

"What have you tried?" Alfred asks softly. "And don't think I'm chastising you. But I do think it's a worthwhile question."

Bruce opens his mouth. He shuts it again. Finally, he says, “I’ve tried yelling at him to take his mask off.”

Alfred nods. "Try something else," he suggests. "Perhaps something gentler. And don't write him off until you have."

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” Bruce asks. “Writing him off?”

"I think you believe that once someone kills--even once, even for good reason--that makes them a fundamentally different person than they were before," Alfred says. "And he's not murdering innocents. I don't agree with what he's doing, but I've killed, too. I was in a war. I have to believe there are degrees of these things."

Bruce thinks of the Riddler saying, _I wish he’d never met you._ He thinks of Red Hood, spitting insults and leaving bodies for him to find. He thinks of the Joker, who last time Bruce saw him described the sounds of Jason’s bones breaking. Bruce had come so close, _so close_ , to doing it then--so close he’d swallowed blood as he walked away. 

“I’m not writing him off,” he says, and starts to cry.

Alfred lets him for a moment, before getting to his knees next to Bruce's chair and gripping his hands. "Bruce," he says. "There. He's alive. You never thought you'd get that chance."

He’s alive and it’s a nightmare. He’s alive and in so much pain the whole city can feel it. Bruce buries his face against Alfred’s hands. 

“Where has he been?” he asks. “What’s been done to him?” He shuts his eyes. “Why wasn’t I there?”

"You're here now," Alfred says briskly. "Or you have the chance to be. Whatever's happened to him, he needs someone."

Bruce straightens. “Other than the Riddler,” he says wearily. How did they end up in a world where the Riddler is guarding Jason from Bruce?

"Ah," Alfred says. "Except for him. I do worry about the safety of that situation for Jason."

Bruce says, “If he hurts Jason I’ll see him in Arkham for years.”

"Don't lose your focus," Alfred says. "Less thought for what you'll do to him, more for what you'll do for Jason." He stands again, with only a little effort.

Bruce nods slowly. “Of course,” he says. “Find him. I’ll have to find him. Riddler said there were dangerous people after him. I’ll have to learn who they are.”

"I have no doubt that you'll put the pieces together," Alfred says. "And Bruce, I don't believe it's too late."

Bruce looks up, to see Alfred gazing down at him. Alfred has never really led him astray, not in the entire lifetime they’ve known one another. This thing is larger than most, but Bruce still trusts him.

“It can’t be,” he says. “I won’t lose him twice.”

"You won't," Alfred says, confident.

Bruce stands up. “I have work to do,” he says. “Please, get some sleep.” He starts for the door, and pauses in the doorway. “Tim can’t know about any of this,” he says. 

Alfred frowns. "It's your decision," he says. "But in my experience, when he doesn't know something, he goes out of his way to find it out. Weigh the dangers."

Bruce says, “Not until the situation is more stable. I’ll keep him home for awhile.”

"As you like," Alfred says. "Get some sleep yourself. This will keep."

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce says. But he doesn’t go to bed. He’s thought things would keep, in the past, and he was wrong. There’s never as much time as you expect. There’s never any warning before people are gone forever. Since he’s got the opportunity to do something right, he’s going to take it starting at this moment, the only moment he can be sure that he has.


	6. Plus One

**EDDIE**

Eddie doesn't go home after the club. They're still too wound up, riding high on the adrenaline from yelling at Batman. So why stop there? Eddie is far from a brave person, but they sometimes find this unstoppable energy when they're doing something dangerous. Hopefully this time it's also something good.

They text Jon and say _Where are you?_ He hates texting and probably won't respond, but sometimes he'll call.

It takes about twenty minutes, but finally Eddie’s phone chirps a call, and it’s Jon on the other end.

“Eddie?” says Jon.

"Where?" Eddie says. "I'm at the train station. Coming to wherever. Are you with Harvey?" The stop Eddie's at will take them to Jon's or Harvey's house eventually, although it will take more connections and a bus to get to Jon's. They hope they don't lose their nerve before they get there.

“No, Harvey isn’t here,” Jon says. “I’m on my way home.”

"Meet me somewhere?" Eddie says. "Both of you?" It's a question, but it's not a question. They have a sudden and horrible image of screaming at Jon and Harvey in a Dunkin Donuts.

Jon doesn’t answer for a few seconds. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to meet me alone?” he says.

Eddie takes that as the olive branch it probably is. "I'll tell Harvey to meet us later," they say. Worse case scenario, this goes badly, Eddie gets a lungful of fear toxin, and Harvey will potentially feel bad for Eddie when he shows up.

“Dim sum?” asks Jon.

"Oh," Eddie says, with a pang. They used to go out for dim sum together, back before Jon hated Eddie all the time. "Yeah, the usual place."

“Half an hour,” Jon says. 

When Eddie arrives at the restaurant--it’s perfect for the two of them, because it’s a hole in the wall place with table service, clean fittings and low prices, if you just get one or two things--Jon is sitting at the table closest to the door. He looks cold, and like he’s trying not to look cold. It’s not even that cold out, but Jon is so skinny that heat seems to wick away from him. There’s a little cup of green tea in front of him, around which he’s curled his hands. He sees Eddie and tilts his chin up in greeting. He’s wearing normal person clothes, a button up shirt and a sweater, and he doesn’t seem to have poisoned even one person in the restaurant.

Eddie probably looks weirder. They're still half in costume (green pants, hoodie over their costume shirt, no mask), and they feel like a dumb kid next to Jon, which is par for the course.

"Hey," Eddie says. They wanted to come in and yell at him, just like they'd yelled at Batman, but in the quiet restaurant, that seems impossible. Besides, it's Jon. He's their friend. He was, anyway.

Jon says, “Eddie,” exactly the way he did when he answered his phone. It could mean anything. It means _something_.

Eddie slides into the seat across from Jon. The last time they were both in this restaurant, they were still together. Jon didn't hate Eddie. It suddenly makes the question of what Jon did to Jay fade into the background of the bigger, worse situation that is the remains of one of Eddie's closest friendships.

"This sucks," Eddie says.

Jon says, sounding unpleasantly startled, “What does?”

"Us," Eddie says. "I don't want to be _enemies._ " It's a cliche to tell your ex you want to be friends, and Eddie definitely did not tell Jon that, but this is such a horrible extreme from where they started.

“Oh,” says Jon. “Yes. You do, though.”

"Okay," Eddie says, nettled, "I don't know why you think that." Their irritation is interrupted by the arrival of a waiter. They order and they realize they've lost track of their thought.

Jon orders after them, and smiles at the waiter as he turns to go; then he turns back to Eddie with a small crease between his eyebrows. “Everything is why,” he says. And then, distractingly, “Have you been all right?”

"What?" Eddie says, derailed even further. "All right?" Since they walked out? Since Jon threatened them? Since Jon stitched Jay up? What?

“I don’t know,” Jon says sharply, and some of the calm and precision seems to shiver off of him. “We don’t talk.”

"Well." Eddie rolls their water glass between their palms. "We broke up. It was awkward." Awkward because they'd said way more than they wanted to say to Jon and not half of what they wanted to say to Harvey.

“Of course,” says Jon. He looks at his tea. Eddie doesn’t know what he’s thinking. “But you want something?”

Eddie can't imagine getting from here to yelling at Jon, and right now they don't want to. "I wanted to tell you off for attacking my boyfriend over and over," they say. "But I think that's a side effect of the thing where we're not talking and you're clearly mad at me."

“I don’t like him,” says Jon.

"Because of his charming personality, or because he's my boyfriend?" Eddie asks.

“I didn’t like him before,” says Jon haughtily. Too defensive. 

"Well, neither did I, before," Eddie says. "But he has my back." They wince, because the implication is--Well, no, the implication is accurate. "That's new for me," they say. "Sorry, Jon, but it is."

Jon says, “He’s a thug, Eddie, and he isn’t smart enough for you.”

"This," Eddie says sharply, "is why we broke up. Because you're fucking mean." It's not the only reason.

Jon just looks at them. Then away again. He says, “I’m sure he’s very smart. I don’t know.”

"He is, actually," Eddie says. "He's not _educated_ , but who is?" Jon and Harvey are, so they're probably doing great together. "You need to leave him alone," Eddie says. There, that's the point they were angry about when they came over here.

Jon, after a second, says, “All right.”

"Really?" Eddie says, surprised. "Just like that? You won't make him do any favors for you?"

Jon says, “No.” He pauses. “I don’t know what Harvey will do.”

"It wasn't Harvey's fucking favor," Eddie says, exasperated. They can't ignore the spike of fear, though. Is Harvey _still_ mad at them? They thought things with Harvey were going to be better with them broken up, and mostly Jon's been the difficult one...But Eddie doesn't want Harvey as an enemy.

“I don’t know,” says Jon. “He takes things, you know.”

Eddie swallows, still caught in the fear. "He--yeah," they say. "How's that--? Are you guys--?" But they can't ask about a relationship they walked out of, can they, especially when the two people still in it keep attacking them?

“If I’m not going to--attack your--Red Hood,” says Jon, “he can’t attack me.”

"I know," Eddie says. He wasn't, not unprovoked, but Eddie lets that go. "I don't want either of you to attack each other. Okay?"

“Ah,” says Jon. “All right.” Like this is, what? New information?

"I'm not building an army against you," Eddie says. "Ideally, I'd like you to be _friends._." That's probably impossible now, or was always impossible, but it would be nice.

Jon says, “Are you and I friends?”

Eddie chews their lip. Jesus. "Not anymore, I guess," they say. Then they muster up their courage and try to remember that this Jon isn't spitting insults or threats. "I want to be," they say.

Jon says nothing for so long that their food comes. He smiles at the waiter a second time. He looks at the food for awhile. Eddie thinks maybe the check will come before Jon ever speaks to them again. 

Finally Jon clears his throat and says, “If that’s what you want, Eddie, I would like that.”

Eddie relaxes. They hadn't realized how tense their shoulders were. "Great," they say, beaming at Jon and feeling like they solved an especially difficult puzzle.

Jon looks soberly back at them, but then he smiles. Just a little. 

“It would be nice,” he says. “If we talked. Or--I did wonder what you wanted. If it was something…” He cuts himself off and sniffs. “This looks good. They always steam their buns so nicely.”

"I'd be really fucking sad if we were fighting too much to come here anymore," Eddie says. They want to reach out and touch Jon's arm, but they probably shouldn't.

Jon’s shoulders relax slightly. “You had my number, Eddie,” he says briskly. “You could have used it before now.” 

Eddie wants to roll their eyes. But if Jon is being like this, there’s probably something else there. He always buries things in layers. And Eddie was always so good at unwrapping him, and they feel closer than they did ten minutes ago--but it can be hard with Jon. Sometimes the answers are backwards and sideways, and sometimes they hurt.

"I was angry," Eddie says. At Jon, yes, but more at Harvey. When Eddie left, they were having trouble untangling the difference. It's clearer now. A lot of things about Harvey are less charming in retrospect.

“Well,” says Jon, “and of course you don’t like me very much.”

Eddie swallows. "Well, no, it wasn't that," they say. "I think Harvey stirred us up against each other, that's all." They say it like it's a minor, forgivable offense.

“But he was wrong,” Jon says, like a question.

"Yeah," Eddie says. "I mean, I don't hate you. Do you hate me?" Jon's been acting like it, but he acts like a lot of things. It doesn't always mean much, or it means something different from what it is.

“No,” says Jon. Neither of them has eaten anything yet. Jon looks--something. Hawkish, but he always does. Tired. Maybe it’s just weird because he isn’t screaming. But then he smiles a little at Eddie, again, and that’s nice, and he doesn’t do that when he doesn’t mean it.

"I really missed this," Eddie says with feeling. They let themself relax long enough to start eating.

Jon gazes at them unnervingly for a few too many seconds, and then says, “Two AM dim sum?”

"Yes," Eddie says, because Jon will understand that they mean _him_. Probably.

Jon nods, looking more satisfied. He pushes up his sleeves and leans forward like he’s ready to eat. It takes Eddie a moment to notice the purple bruises wrapped around his arm. Jon says, “We should get to it, then, before it gets cold.”

"Hey, what--?" Eddie gestures at them with a flick of their fingers. It could be from a lot of things. Eddie is already calculating the likelihood of each of them.

Jon pulls his sleeve down again without even looking. “I think I need more tea,” he says.

Eddie takes a bite, but they feel sick. "Jon."

“Yes, Eddie?” Jon says, raising a hand to the waiter.

"Who hurt you?" Eddie says woodenly. This is a shitty week. Everyone Eddie likes is getting hurt, one way or another.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Jon. “It won’t happen again.”

"Depending on what it was, I bet it will," Eddie says viciously. "If it's Arkham, it will. If it's Batman, it will. If it's Harvey, it always fucking does."

Jon says, “Well, he and I are not together at present, so I don’t see why it should.”

"Oh, shit," Eddie says. "That's why you look so good." When Eddie walked away, they never thought Jon would. Even if that's what they wanted more than anything.

The waiter comes with a new pot of tea.

“I always look good,” Jon says.

"You look _stable_ ," Eddie clarifies. "So what happened?" If it's anything like why Eddie left--But Eddie can see the bruises. It is.

Jon says, “I broke things off.” Deflection.

"Because he redecorated you?" Eddie asks. They make a half-hearted grab for Jon's sleeve. Jon doesn’t pull away fast enough to stop them. His fingers curl under Eddie’s hand.

“We had a disagreement,” Jon says. 

"Did you disagree over whether he should beat you black and blue?" Eddie asks. God, _fuck_ Harvey.

Jon shifts in his seat. 

“I suggested that we use the--favor I don’t have--directly against Batman,” he says. “Perhaps I was a little too insistent.”

"He didn't want to?" Eddie asks. Harvey and Batman. Such a problem, sometimes.

“You know how he gets about Batman,” says Jon scathingly. He clearly hadn’t remembered how Harvey gets about Batman--not in the moment when it mattered.

"So you fought about it and it got nasty," Eddie says. "At least you knew when to pull the plug."

“I never liked him very much,” Jon says. “Not really a loss, is it?”

"Well, you don't have to say that," Eddie says. Jon always wants to save face. "I liked him more than anything, once. But he's a bully, and he never means it when he promises not to hurt you. So."

“He never promises that,” says Jon. 

"Ah," Eddie says. "He used to promise me that. You maybe have a higher tolerance for being hurt." But not an infinite tolerance.

Jon says, “You make me sound very stupid, Eddie.”

"Not stupider than me," Eddie says. "Just different. But come on. Whatever lines he says he won't cross, he crosses them. That's Harvey."

Jon shrugs in on himself. “I said, I think I said,” he starts. 

Eddie takes another bite, deliberately, looking down at their food. Let Jon feel a little less self-conscious.

“That you wanted him to kill you,” Jon says. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

Eddie swallows. It still tastes like sand. "You can see why I might have been mad at you," they say delicately.

“Yes, I can see that,” Jon says. 

"But now I'm just mad at him," Eddie says. "Okay?"

Jon looks less put-together now than he did when Eddie walked in. 

“Just him,” he says. “Yes. Of course.”

"Jon," Eddie says. They take Jon's hand. "Hey." It's very hard to stay mad at Jon when he works by such obvious mechanisms, and Eddie can almost always find a way to find his good parts.

Jon’s hand just barely tightens in theirs. “Harvey thinks the favor’s his, though,” he says. “He’ll still do whatever it is he wants to your Red Hood. I’m sorry to say I don’t think I’ll be a very useful persuasive force at this time. If you wanted to talk him out of it.”

Eddie shakes their head. They've almost run out of energy for yelling at people today. "He doesn't convince easily," Eddie says.

“No,” says Jon. He pulls his hand away. “We’re in a window,” he says. “The last thing we need is for your _boyfriend_ to see us and break another rib. Harvey--” He says the name, and simply deanimates.

"Harvey _what?_ " Eddie asks icily.

“Don’t you get tired of being right all the time?” Jon asks. “Honestly, Eddie. Eat your food.” 

Jon can be such a nightmare, but just now he seems like a normal, sad person.

Eddie takes another bite. It tastes like food this time, and they realize they're actually pretty hungry. "Love you," they say, mouth full. "Got your back."

**JASON**

Eddie acts weird for a few days. They and Jay are not the kind of couple (and Jay doesn’t even think he likes that word, Jesus) that shares everything and bugs each other about feelings or anything like that, so he doesn’t do anything about it for awhile. And waiting it works okay, because Eddie eventually cracks. The two of them are bumming around downtown, past food they don’t buy and kids getting up to no good, and then Eddie stops and stares really hard at a dim sum place, and that’s the crack.

Jay, who hasn’t ever noticed this place before, says, “Hungry?”

"Huh?" Eddie says. "Oh--um, kind of." Their glance slides away from Jason. They've always been a pretty shitty liar.

Jay says, “Mob scene inside? Aliens? Superman? I guess that’s aliens.”

"Oh." Eddie looks at the restaurant again, uncomfortable. "No, nothing like that. Just thinking about something." They look at Jason and sigh. "About Jon."

“Scary Jon,” says Jay. “Why, what’s he planning to do us?”

Eddie frowns. "No," they say. "I wasn't thinking that. Listen, I saw him the other night. There. That's the right thing, telling you that."

It does not feel like the right thing. Jay’s whole body tenses, and he says, “That asshole who keeps breaking into my house? The guy who is blackmailing us? Just a little dim sum?”

"My ex, yes," Eddie says woodenly. They've definitely never framed it exactly like that before.

Jay stops and looks between them and the dim sum place.

“I think I’m kind of upset,” he says.

"I met up with him to tell him off for threatening you," Eddie says. "And when I got there, he wasn't what I expected."

That doesn’t actually feel better, and Jason thinks that his face says so. “So then,” he says.

"He broke up with Harvey," Eddie says. They sigh. "You're mad. You don't know how Harvey is. He makes people into monsters. Jon especially."

“So, what, you’re cool now?” Jason says. He crosses his arms. “No big deal because he only treats you like shit when someone tells him to?” Never mind treating Jason like shit. He didn’t like that either.

Eddie wraps their arms around themself and looks around, but nobody is looking at them. It's Gotham; they're not exactly the most exciting thing happening.

"I'm not saying it's okay," they say. "But he wants to make it right. Or--at least he doesn't want to make it worse."

“Outstanding,” says Jason unhappily.

"You're mad," Eddie says, and they take a few steps back. "Don't, okay, it's okay, and it's going to be fine if you just--don't freak out." Jason _wasn't_ freaking out.

“I’m not doing anything,” says Jason. “You just told me you secretly had dinner with your ex and he’s not that bad, I feel like even if he wasn’t always trying to kill us that’s something I’m still allowed to feel not great about.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and shuts their eyes for a minute. When they open them, they say, "Sorry. I know. You're right. You _are_ right. I was just--panicking, which wasn't about you. Sorry. You're right, it was shitty."

“Yeah?” Jason says, tilting his head. “Are you breaking up with me?”

"What?" Eddie says, blinking at Jason. "Oh, holy shit, no! No, I _like_ you. Way too much to ever break up with you." They pause, maybe playing back what they've said. They turn a little pink, but they don't take it back.

Jason bites his lip but a smile still sneaks through. 

“Okay,” he says. “Cool. So--then, what?”

"Before we were dating--and some of the time we were--Jon and I were friends," Eddie says. "I mean, best friends. Things got bad, and I left, and then we weren't, and some of that was my fault. I'd really, really like to be friends with him again."

That makes sense, even if the person it’s about doesn’t. And then there’s Two-Face. And Jason. Jason says, “Do you just have the world’s worst taste in people?”

Eddie shrugs and looks at Jason. "Apparently not."

“You’re cute, and like really smart? But an idiot,” says Jason. “But it’s nice.” He scrapes the sole of his shoe against the concrete and sticks his hands in his jacket pockets. “So. No Harvey, and he’s nice now?”

"Not that easy, probably," Eddie says. "He's never _nice_. Not to strangers, anyway. But maybe you guys could...I don't know, not be strangers?"

“Wait, what?” Jason says. “You said _you_ would be friends. Nobody said I was going to be friends.”

"But you're my boyfriend," Eddie says, like you can just stand in the street and say that to someone's face for the first time.

Jason looks around, just like Eddie did earlier, except he thinks he’s looking for someone who will agree with him that everything about this exchange is fucking crazy.

“You aren’t even sure if you can be friends,” says Jason. “But you want….him and me to be?”

"I want all of us to try," Eddie says. "Okay? Seeing him just sucked. I was--sad. You know, upset. And he's--Breaking up with Harvey was a big deal."

“Did something happen?” Jason says. “Because, uh, they were definitely on the same page last time I saw them. You know, together.” He shrugs uncomfortably. 

"They had a disagreement over Batman," Eddie says lightly. "But honestly, that's not--the crux of it. But that's Jon's business."

The way they say it pinches something inside Jason. Because before he died, he lived a lot, and he knew people, and things happened to them. For a second, he forgets who they’re talking about and just understands, too clearly, _what_ they’re talking about.

He says, “Oh.” Then he presses his tongue against his teeth so that he doesn’t do anything that really hurts.

"Jon is better without Harvey," Eddie says, clearly and painfully. "And so am I. And I would like us to be friends with Jon."

“Yeah,” says Jason. “I mean, I hate his guts. No offense. But I can be nice, if he can just stop--doing all that. Because I’m not going to be nice if he drugs me or stabs me or threatens to kill you or whatever.”

"Oh, no, totally fair," Eddie says quickly. "And I _did_ tell him off for harassing you, and I told him he can't do it anymore."

“Yeah?” Jason says, raising his eyebrows. “And he said what?”

"He won't," Eddie says. "I know him."

Jason chews on that. “I’ll try,” he says. “You know, if it comes up. I don’t care if you hang out, I’m not your--” He stops, feeling bemused. “Am I your boyfriend?”

"I don't know," Eddie says. "I've kind of been thinking of you that way. If that's weird, I--Well, there's not a lot I can do about it."

“No, it’s--that’s fine,” says Jason. “I guess? I mean, I’m fine with that. I mean--”

He has the sudden shitty thought that if Alfred could see him right now, he’d be laughing his ass off.

"Not that you can't see other people," Eddie says quickly. "If you wanted."

“Oh! Sure,” says Jason. “Are you--is that? Are you seeing him?”

Eddie flushes. "No," they say. "I mean, no, not anymore. Just you. But I'm trying not to be clingy. I've been told that's a bad quality I have."

“By who?” says Jason. 

"Harvey," Eddie says quietly. "He's a lot of the reason Jon and I don't get along. Probably more of the reason than Jon realizes. He was good at getting us alone and saying things to keep us alone."

Again, that anger. This time Jason bites his tongue, literally. He says, as light as he can, “Well, you can call me that. And you’re not clingy. I think maybe you’re normal.”

Eddie gives Jason a little sideways smile. "I really like you," they say. "Even though you made me talk about feelings with you."

“Me?” says Jason. “I’m not like that. You couldn’t even help it.”

"Maybe," Eddie says. They put their hand in Jason's. "Hey, let's go find somewhere to eat that can be our place."

“That’s really nice,” says Jason. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

**JON**

Eddie really does come back. 

Jon doesn’t expect that. Whatever Eddie says, Jon knows it’s not as simple as _I’m not mad_ , even for Eddie, the kind of person who never wastes time feeling halfway about things and changes their mind quickly.

So yes, it _could_ be true. It just doesn’t feel likely.

No matter what Jon believes, though, here is what happens: Eddie calls Jon out at dim sum at two in the morning and says they want things to be good again, and Jon takes that as a ceasefire. Eddie, being Eddie, takes that to mean that they can text Jon constantly, and show up at his office, and make him come see a play (and also make him pay). It’s strange enough that Jon wants to scream, strange enough that he can feel the weak points of this friendliness, feel what’s going to happen when Eddie changes their mind again. But it’s...nice, for now, not to be alone. 

Then, after a while of this, Eddie sends a bad text, and follows it up with a bad call. 

"You didn't answer my text," they say immediately. "Are you at work? Are you upset? Come on, Jonathan, you said you were going to be cool with him. You can't prove you're cool if you never interact."

“You said not to attack,” says Jon, who is surrounded by barking. “I didn’t attack.”

Eddie sighs. "I like going places with you," they say. "And I like going places with him. It's not crazy to suggest going someplace all together. Or staying in! We don't have to go out."

Jon says, “I hate it, thank you.” But then Eddie just sits in silence on the other end of the line, and Jon says snappishly, “Fine. Somewhere. Or in. He won’t like it either.”

"Believe me, I'm aware," Eddie says. "But you haven't actually seen each other's good sides." They pause, a buzz of silent energy. "It's important to me," they say.

Jon sticks his fingers through one of the cage door, which the signs he no longer reads say not to do, and touches a wet nose. “Fine,” he says. “All right.” If he doesn’t do it, anyway, Eddie will leave. He doesn’t doubt it. “What do you want to do? You always have a plan.”

"Hm," Eddie says smugly. "I do. We should all order in at my place. Neutral territory. Jon, where _are_ you?"

“Dogs,” says Jon.

"I can hear that," Eddie says. "I'll ask you follow-up questions at dinner. Tonight. So you don't have a chance to change your mind."

“What?” says Jon, unnerved. “What? When?”

"I don't know, six?" Eddie says. "What's dinnertime?"

“Six,” says Jon darkly, and hangs up.

Jon actually arrives at 5:56, because it’s better to be scrupulous when you hate something. He brings a pie. He didn’t make the pie. He goes up to Eddie’s without texting ahead because Eddie knows he is coming and the front door never locks. Really, really they should work on that. 

He knocks on the door and wonders if he should try to change his expression, which is probably a little off-putting. He could pretend he is at work.

Eddie flings the door open. "Hi!" they say. They scan Jon's face. "Oh, well, okay. You'll cheer up. Come in. Oh, you brought a thing!" They stand aside, humming with nervous energy.

Jon feels a little bad about that. He tries to fix his face.

“It’s pie,” he says. Pie is probably a mistake.

"You really are making an effort," Eddie says, surprised. They take the pie. "Come on, I'll introduce you two. You know, correctly."

“Mm,” says Jon helpfully. He isn’t pleased that Red Hood beat him here. It occurs to him that Red Hood might have been here all day. Some other things occur after that and Jon feels sour. He follows Eddie through the door, and there Red Hood is. “You don’t have a name, do you?” he asks. Possibly not the most polite way to address the issue.

"Oh," Eddie says. "Right." They look sideways at Red Hood, quizzical. "I guess you could use the same name you gave me. If you wanted."

Jon switches his gaze to Red Hood, who looks—pink-faced and cranky. He might even be nice to look at, if he wasn’t Robin and he wasn’t so unpleasant. Jon can see, anyway, why Eddie might have fucked him in Arkham. As for the rest of it, he will reserve verbal judgment. He will try to reserve verbal judgment. 

"I'm Jay," Red Hood says defensively. Whether it's a name or an initial, Jon doesn't know or care.

“Fine,” he says. “You can call me Dr. Crane.”

"I don't think so," Jay says, his mouth twisting.

"Why don't we all stick to first names, real or not," Eddie says briskly. "Here, Jon, sit down."

Eddie’s little table has three chairs, which it never has before, which means they prepared for this. Jon sits down. 

“I hear you’re dating,” he says grimly. “Congratulations.”

"I hear you're single," Jay says. "Congrats to you too." It sounds more genuine than snotty, shockingly.

Jon pierces Eddie with a look, but Eddie doesn’t have the decency to look ashamed. 

“That’s right,” Jon says. He dislikes that he can hear the question in his own words. He does not need to know what Jay knows. He can ask Eddie later. He will probably do that. 

"So, um, food," Eddie says cheerfully. "I ordered Italian. Because it's a special occasion."

Jay, to his credit, looks as put-off as Jon feels by the phrase.

“Italian is—” Jon looks at Jay, who is waiting for Jon to do something unforgivable. Not liking red sauce is not unforgivable but Jon decides not to push it so early. “—very special,” he says.

"I got you an alfredo thing," Eddie says.

"I know it's not fine dining," Jay says sharply, "but Eddie really made things nice for you."

"I did clean up," Eddie says.

Jon says, “I know that. You got a chair.” The words come out smoothly. He doesn’t feel smooth, but it’s important to be so. Not for Eddie always, maybe, but they’re not friends right now and Red Hood is here. Angry, too.

"You noticed," Eddie says, pleased. "So, okay, you guys should get to know each other."

Jay gives Jon a dirty look that dissolves into a "what did we get ourselves into?" look. Interesting.

“All right,” says Jon. “Are you—will there be riddles?”

"Yes," Eddie says, at which Jay looks absolutely horrified. "But they're for me. I'll let you know later if I solve them." They go to hover behind Jay's chair, and he reaches up to touch their hand.

Jon feels a little like he’s in school, which he hated from beginning to end. (He was good at it.)

“Fine,” he says. “How did you find Arkham from the inside?” He says this and immediately blocks the impulse his mind has of reminding him of what happens there. It doesn’t matter. What’s there and what’s here, those are different worlds. Different people, maybe.

"Are you kidding?" Jay says. "Is this your idea of making friends?" Eddie pinches his shoulder and he says, "Ow! Okay. It's a shit-hole. And yeah, it's different when you're the one in it. You've made that switch too."

“I know,” says Jon. “I have a practice now instead. Arkham was a very poor employer.”

"You do?" Jay says. "What, like doing therapy?"

“People have jobs,” says Jon. “Some people.”

"If you're just gonna make digs…" Jay says.

“You were,” Jon says, frowning. 

"About the therapy?" Jay says. "Not really. I just didn't know you could just do that. I don't really know how therapy works."

Eddie makes a noise of disbelief. "Yeah," they say.

Jon looks between the two of them and says, “Well I can’t do you.”

"I wasn't gonna ask!" Jay says. Then he says, "Wait, are you kidding around? Do you have a sense of humor?"

Jon does, of course, but that wasn’t it. Somehow it feels bad to have it misidentified. 

“I was just letting you know,” he says. Eddie is not going to invite him back after this. 

"Food should be here soon," Eddie says unhappily. "I ordered from a nice place, even if it is takeout."

"I wasn't worried," Jay says.

“I brought pie,” says Jon. “Did you get your stitches out?”

"Oh," Jay says. "No, I didn't. I don't have insurance. Or a legal existence."

Jon says, distracted by horror, “You can’t just LEAVE them. Eddie!”

"What?" Eddie says. "You can't?" They should absolutely know that.

"I was gonna figure it out," Jay says uncomfortably.

“No,” says Jon. 

"We didn't invite you over to make you play doctor," Jay says.

“Then I’ll come back tomorrow,” says Jon, poking at the pie box. “With things.”

"Oh," Jay says, coloring. "Yeah, cool. Thanks. What kind of pie?"

Jon stops poking and looks at the plain blue box and says, “Well. I don’t remember.”

"I'm pie neutral," Jay says. "So, do your patients know you're the Scarecrow?"

“Why would they know that?” Jon asks, again horrified. “No. No. I stopped using it as a therapy years ago.” Something tickles in his mind. There was a mistake, recently. Harvey was there. He doesn’t say that.

"A therapy," Jay says. "Sure. So now you just use it to attack people? I'm not being a dick, I'm really trying to figure this out."

Jonathan resists the urge to look at Eddie. He says, “Isn’t it nice that you have such a curious mind.” He tries to line up the best way to explain, without giving Jay more than he wants to, because he can see that Jay is going to push. People never like his explanations about Scarecrow. It’s their own fault, but it frustrates him.

"That's me, always asking questions," Jay says, glancing at Eddie."Seriously, though, if we're going to be friends, I get to ask you stuff. You can take a turn being intrusive when I'm done. Come on, I got to find out all about the Riddler. Now it's the Scarecrow's turn."

"Mm, well, some," Eddie says, which sounds noncommittal enough that Jon feels a little vindictively satisfied.

He says, which is the best he can do without leaving or hitting something, “Medical trials didn’t go well. Arkham personnel were...unpleasant about it.” An understatement. “So I altered the purpose, for their...temporary benefit.” It _had_ stopped them in their tracks, although they haven’t been happy with him since. He sniffs. “One thing leads to the next. I’m sure you’ve found that your being a violent little monster at one time has made it difficult to be anything else later on.” Eddie won’t like that, but Jay should understand what he means. Survival becomes habit. Habit becomes trap. And how much wrong has Jon really done, anyway?

Jay clears his throat and looks uncomfortable. "Yeah," he says. "You're saying it's instinct, now, less than planning. That it's in your bloodstream. I guess I thought of you as more like--I don't know, Eddie. Eddie plans. I act. Y'know." He shrugs.

“I’m not mindless,” says Jonathan, nettled. “Everything has consequences. I made the best choice.” This time he does look at Eddie. For reassurance? He’s angry to have done it even while his head is turning.

But, "Did you," Eddie says icily. 

There are a million directions the conversation could go from here. And Jon doesn’t expect the vitriol, although he should--he already knows that a week or so of friendly contact doesn’t mean much. It’s meant nothing before, and human beings are, as he’s just acknowledged, creatures of awful habit. 

He wants to say, _I don’t know what you mean,_ because he doesn’t and it’s worrying, but Red Hood is right here and Jon doesn’t want to leave himself open.

He says, “Is the food coming soon?”

"Yeah, we ordered a million years ago," Jay says. He smiles at Eddie. "Hey, this is fun." He says it very firmly and confidently.

"Oh," Eddie says. "Okay." They turn to Jon, the ice melting. "Wait, you didn't tell me about dogs!" Just then, the buzzer goes off, and Eddie says, "Hold that thought!" and dashes.

"They just want us to get along," Jay says. "But don't worry, I'm not expecting you to be a kitten."

That is such a weird insult that Jon doesn’t know how to respond. 

“I’m not one of Eddie’s puzzles,” he says. “You don’t have to work me out.”

"I suck at puzzles," Jay says. "I'm just saying, there's a lot of room between wanting to kill me and being a sweetheart. I'm not asking for miracles."

“You seem to be one,” says Jon.

"Oh, that," Jay says uncomfortably. "I guess. Look, let's not get into that."

Jon could find out without asking. Jon could squeeze it out of him. All he’d need to do is be friendly enough to get Jay in a corner and he could know everything that is driving Jay to rage and murder and turn against Batman. It’s anger, of course, and that’s no doubt what he’d call it. But it’s mostly fear. Jon can tell.

“Are you easy to be friends with?” he asks. Everything comes out better when he’s working, and hearing himself at any other time is difficult. He grimaces and pretends he doesn’t have a problem with his own question. “Eddie seems to think so,” he adds.

"I don't have a whole lot of other friends," Jay says, "so I guess that tells you something."

Jon snorts quietly. “Eddie and I were friends,” he says. “A long time before Harvey turned up.”

"I think that's why this was important to them," Jay says.

“I’m in a strange position,” says Jon.

"Okay, I guess I can be sympathetic to that, I guess," Jay says. "Explain."

No thank you to that. “I don’t think it’s your business,” he says. “It’s just an observation.”

"Well, okay, so am I," Jay says. "You attacked me, gave me stitches, dated the person I'm...with…" He hunches in on himself. "I don't know how I'm supposed to interact with you."

Jon doesn’t want to grapple with that the way that Jay wants him to grapple with that, so he says, “Eddie thinks I’ve been _attacking_ you unprovoked. But they don’t like to remember who you are. You were never nice. I remember.”

Jay flushes. "I know," he says. "I don't think the other day was the first time I broke your ribs."

“No,” says Jon shortly. He feels all the aches. Then he gathers things and says, unwillingly, “Maybe neither of us has been...nice. I told Eddie I would rethink that. If you did.”

Jay nods. "Okay. Deal. Good place to start?" He shifts in his seat. "Jeez, Eddie's been gone forever. Think they're listening at the door?"

Jon says, “Yes. Unfortunately. I can smell _tomatoes._ ”

Eddie pokes their head in, right on cue. "The delivery guy was chatty," they say. They bring the food to the little table and start sorting it.

Jon watches them. “I’ll pay you back,” he says. He means the food, but naturally as soon as he says it he realizes that Eddie, who fiddles with everything anyone says, will think he’s admitting to something, and not just splitting bills.”Is thirty enough?” he adds briskly.

"Yeah," Eddie says. They never turn down money. "See, alfredo. Not red sauce. So, dogs?"

"Dogs?" Jay says.

“I was only looking,” says Jon.

"Jon, come on, you need a dog," Eddie says.

"You should get a pit bull," Jay says, pushing his ravioli around in his red sauce. "They're so good."

“Hmm,” says Jon. But there’s something—are they _interested?_ In _Jon?_

"Or a greyhound," Jay says. "You like greyhounds?"

“I don’t know any,” Jon says. “They didn’t have them.” He narrows his eyes. “Why do you think I would like one?”

"They're skinny and fast and worried," Jay says, eating. "Like you. Pit bulls aren't, they're just the best dog anyway."

Jon, flustered, says, “That’s—so rude.” He sounds surprised instead of angry, to his own ears. 

"I'm rude," Jay says. "But it wasn't really an insult."

Jon picks up a fork and takes the plastic lid off his dinner. 

“Greyhound,” he says. “All right. You’re a pit bull. What’s Eddie?”

"Pomeranian," Jay says.

"What the fuck," says Eddie.

Jon laughs.

Jay stares at him. Then a slow smile crinkles his babyish face, finally making him look his age. "I knew you had a sense of humor."

“It’s never been the right time,” says Jon.

"That's why we need more dinners like this," Eddie says.

Jon takes a bite, and it isn’t bad. 

“Tomorrow I’ll come back,” he says. “For the stitches.”

"That's actually really cool if you," Jay says. "Thanks." No sarcasm or defensiveness there.

“That’s all right,” Jon says. It’s so odd. “Eddie wouldn’t like it if I let you fester.”

"I gotta say, I'm really glad you're friends again," Jay says.

Jon says, “Oh? Oh—Yes. Of course. I can see—yes, that would be better for you.”

"Not just 'cause of the stitches," Jay says. "Eddie's happy. And we got to talk about dogs." He starts focusing very hard on eating, making it difficult to respond.

A little kindling of anger crumbles in Jon’s chest. He still doesn’t understand what Eddie wants, and now—what, they have Red Hood doing it as well? It can’t be as simple as whatever this is. It’s too nice. It’s not real. He looks at Eddie, and down at his food, and says, “I’m sorry for the trouble, Edward, I have to go now.” He gets up quickly and fishes cash out of his wallet, dropping it on the table before he makes a beeline out the door. 

Before he gets halfway down the stairs, Eddie is pounding down the stairs after him, calling his name. "Wait, wait," they say. "Jon, don't go. Can we talk?"

Jon says, “It’s very important,” and keeps walking. He doesn’t have an excuse in mind. It is important to leave, though, because they’re coming too close and he knows what’s going to happen, and he’s allowed--he’s _allowed_ \--to make decisions and to have dignity and to not be blindsided, when he’s supposed to be smart.

"Jon, I'm really trying," Eddie says, still following him. "You have to try, too." They're in a stairway. Surely people can hear them.

“Trying _what_?” Jon snarls, spinning around. “I don’t like being manipulated, Eddie!”

"I wasn't--" Eddie stops. "Sorry," they say. "Is it manipulative to do things I know you'll like so that you'll be friends with us? You knew that was the plan!"

Jon knows. He knows better than this. And yes, it would be--convenient, and maybe even a relief, for this all to be true, but even Eddie can’t just turn their mind around like that, so quickly and completely. It doesn’t make sense. It’s cruel. He’s so tired of everything being _cruel_. 

“It’s manipulative to feel like you do and then do all of this,” Jon says angrily. Anyone can certainly hear them through these thin doors and barely existent walls.

"So you know how I feel, huh," Eddie says neutrally. "How do I feel, Jon?"

The words cram up Jon’s throat and into his mouth and jam there. He can hear them in Eddie’s voice, and Harvey’s, and they curdle him. 

“I’m a problem you happily got rid of,” he says precisely. “I’m not stupid. You think I’m--” Irritating. Needy. Crazier than his patients. Harvey’s hand running down his body-- _They’re so relieved not to have to touch you anymore._ He can’t say any of that. He _won’t._

Eddie rubs their face. "God," they say. "No. I know I said some things when I left, but--Look, I was scared, and angry, and Harvey was in my head. He was in yours, too. What the hell would I be getting out of this if I thought any of that? Manipulating you into _what? _"__

__Jon says, “Winning me over. To get back at Harvey.”_ _

__"That's crazy," Eddie says. "I mean, it's not true. I'm not thinking about him, I'm thinking about how we used to be, before he was in the picture."_ _

__“It’s not _crazy,”_ Jon snaps. He blinks other words out of his head, uglier. “You said I was a--” Did Eddie say it? Did Harvey say they said it? He can’t remember. It’s all mixed up--he remembers exactly what Eddie said when they left, but everything else is all mixed up. “I don’t need to waste time being condescended to,” he says. “I have other people to spend my time with.” He doesn’t. He could._ _

__"This is so, so, so dumb," Eddie says. They don't sound irritated, just miserable. "He won, didn't he? He split us up so completely that we're never going to be friends again."_ _

__“I’m not _dumb_ ,” Jon says. Everything is tight, and mean, and terrible. They’re never going to be friends again. “Stop saying that. Stop it. I don’t want to hear it anymore.” _ _

__"No!" Eddie says loudly. "I won't stop! I miss you, and I'm not going to let him beat us. I can't believe this is--a puzzle I can't solve." They look down at Jon, arms wrapped around themself, eyes huge._ _

__Jon, in the moment, can’t understand the difference between what Eddie is showing them and what everything Jon knows tells him. Eddie never seemed like a liar, but--_ _

__“I’m not going to hurt you anymore,” Jon says. Testing. Setting the rules. “I’ll leave you alone. You don’t have to do this.”_ _

__"You think this is fear?" Eddie says. "Jon, you know better. You know fear." They take a few steps down the stairs toward him. "But I guess we've both been hiding it pretty well."_ _

__Jon is white-out empty inside his head, for a few seconds, at least a few seconds. He tries to summon all the parts of this into one place, where he can pick them into thoughts._ _

__“I’m not disgusting,” he says. “I won’t keep--associating with you. If you still think that.”_ _

__"I never thought that!" Eddie sounds exasperated, and so sad._ _

__What Jon needs, he thinks, is to go sit in his office and focus on someone else’s problems, and later he can think about this. Unfortunately, he is standing on the landing of a grubby staircase in a shithole apartment building being stared down by someone he used to trust, who won’t stop contradicting him._ _

__He says, “What do you think now?”_ _

__"I miss you," Eddie says tearfully. "I mean that. I don't want to stop being friends because of something Harvey said about me. He said a lot, you know. He also said I like being choked, and that the word no isn't in my vocabulary. We have to get him out of our friendship if we're going to have one. I'm telling you here and now, I like you, I respect you, and I'm not losing you again."_ _

__Jon’s first reaction is a full-bodied _no._ Harvey being gone was Jon’s idea, and it’s exhilarating, but Harvey being gone is also an unspeakable terror, something Jon has done that is wrong and dangerous and leaves Jon without a net. A net that might like to strangle him, like Eddie said, but the only net that Jon has had in a very long time._ _

__Except--Eddie._ _

__He tests again. “I’ve enjoyed this week. It’s--nice to talk to someone.” Anyone. But he means Eddie._ _

__He still has the anger, and it writhes up at surprising moments--when they were both standing at the sinks in the bathroom at the theatre, and Eddie was chattering about nothing, and Jon thought, _you are pretending this is easy_. When Eddie sent him a text at two in the morning that said, _god next time i have to deal with jervis PLEASE come with me_ , like nothing had ever been wrong._ _

__It hurts, he forces himself to acknowledge, because the meanness and the distance hurt, and he is afraid they will come back._ _

__Eddie wipes their eyes. "I know this doesn't fix everything. But please come back in. I got ice cream."_ _

__Jon remembers that Jay is still upstairs. He says, “I’m afraid I’m making a bad impression.”_ _

__"Nobody cares," Eddie says. "We're all assholes sometimes."_ _

__Jon thinks that they don’t just mean at this moment. Jon says, “In that case, if you don’t mind, I would like to finish my dinner.”_ _

__Eddie's face lights up. "Yes!" they say. "Okay, yes, good." And they start back up the stairs, turning back to smile at Jon every few steps._ _

__Jon bites his tongue for a second, to make up for the touch he suddenly and stupidly wants but can’t ask for. Then he follows Eddie up the stairs, and strangely enough, it seems to be all right._ _


	7. You Can't Just Walk Away

**BRUCE**

From the moment Bruce learns that Jason is back, he is consumed. There's no waking minute where he doesn't think about finding him, or not being able to find him, or what will happen when he does find him. He plays through the scenarios a thousand times. Some are better than others. He scours the internet for any clue and hacks into security footage (he doesn't have Barbara help, and he tells himself it's because she's on vacation, not because he doesn't want to share this with anyone). He goes out every night, often without Tim, hoping to see Red Hood.

In every single one of the scenarios he imagines, he's Batman. But it's not until he's in line at a patisserie, in a suit and tie, that he catches up to Jason.

He's not even thinking about the other half of his life, but something catches the corner of his eye, and he sees three men at a little table in the corner. Suddenly every nerve in his body is on alert.

It’s the Riddler he recognizes first. Riddler doesn’t change much, between costume and civilian life. He’s dipping a finger into the whipped cream of a choux bun and laughing. That’s bad enough--this isn’t Riddler’s part of town, and Bruce can’t help but assume that anywhere he goes, he brings trouble with him. 

Then he sees the man next to Riddler, half hidden by a downturned face and the profile of the man on his other side. _Why is that profile familiar?_ Bruce manages to think with alarm, but then the man in the middle looks up, and he’s Jason. 

He’s Jason.

Everything in Bruce stops dead, and then someone runs into him from behind.

“Excuse me?” says a woman trying to enter the shop. “Can you move?”

It takes Bruce a second to unfreeze. He can't think, let alone decide on something to order. If he stops looking, Jason will disappear. Jason looks older, and there's a streak of white in his hair. He looks happy. Bruce can't stop staring.

The Riddler shakes his head at something and swaps his choux bun for the plate of the miniature macarons the third man has, then back. It's a tiny shop; one of them is going to notice Bruce, and then he won't have any excuse. He still can't move.

“Excuse me!” says the woman more loudly, and it’s completely fair, and Jason looks over at the source of the noise. And sees him. And that is how Bruce knows he’s not hallucinating, or somehow wrong: Jason’s whole expression drops for a moment. 

Bruce feels like he's in a nightmare. He can't say anything in front of those two. But he also can't walk out of here. Jason may be making choices that Bruce would never make, but isn't it still Bruce's job to protect him from people like the Riddler?

The Riddler puts his hand on Jason's arm and says something, his voice rising in a question Bruce can't hear over the chatter in the shop.

Jason answers, tearing his eyes away from Bruce and putting on the smile he was wearing before. Bruce can see his tension from across the small room. Not surprising, really. They’re probably less than fifteen feet away from each other. He steps back and takes out his phone like he has something important to confer about. Which pastries to bring home, possibly. 

It’s when he glances up again that the third awful realization hits him, because the third man has stood up and is walking towards the tiny bathroom back by the counter. He’s probably someone’s idea of good looking, and polished, which is why Bruce doesn’t understand at first. But then there’s a hint of an expression, as he walks by Bruce, and Bruce _knows_ , from what he’d almost forgotten, from before he was the person Bruce was bringing _to_ Arkham.

Jason is lost. It's all Bruce can think about. If Jason is _friends_ with the Scarecrow--but he's not just lost, he's unsafe, and Bruce has to do something. His whole body stiffens when the Scarecrow walks by, and when he turns back to the table, Jason is watching him again.

There must be a way to talk to him, or--take him out of here, or something. 

“Are you in line?” asks a teenage girl.

"I don't--" Bruce says. He steps further out of the way, although there isn't much space, and he finds himself taking a few steps toward Jason's table. Then, out of sheer panic, he raises his voice slightly and calls over to Jason, "Hey, are the lemon tarts good here?" He sounds completely calm and normal, shocking himself.

Jason’s fork cuts through his own lemon tart like a refusal. The Riddler looks up.

"Uh," he says. He jostles Jason's elbow.

Bruce can't be here, doing this. What is he doing? But it's Jason, and if he walks away, maybe he won't get another chance. People are moving around him, clearly annoyed. He can't understand how this is happening.

Jason bends his head a little closer to the Riddler. “Was he talking to me?” he asks, like Bruce is a stranger and the Riddler is his protective barrier.

"Apparently," the Riddler says. He steals a bite of Jason's tart, raises his voice, and says, "It's pretty good, Mr. Wayne!"

Bruce sometimes forgets how recognizable he is. He has to get out of here before he does something he can't take back in front of two of his biggest enemies. The Scarecrow will be back any minute. He shakes his head at Jason, trying to communicate--what? He feels sick. He turns to go, almost running into a woman with too many bags. As he flees, he turns back for one last look at Jason.

“Like Bruce Wayne?” Jason is asking. Like a stranger.

Like a stranger.

**TIM**

Bruce has been telling Tim to stay home a lot lately. Normally that would be upsetting, but for once, he welcomes the extra time. It gives him a chance to find out more about Red Hood. The internet isn't much use, and he can't think of who to ask that won't try to kill him or tell Bruce. Besides, he's supposed to be careful, if what Dick said was true.

Dick. That's a thought. Tim spends a few more days going out with no luck before he gives up and takes the bus to Bludhaven to see Dick. 

Dick's window is locked, which Tim isn't used to, so he knocks.

“Coming!” Dick yells from inside, and a few seconds later he yanks the door open. Tim doesn’t know who he expects, but he can see right away that it isn’t him.

"Hi, sorry," he says reflexively. "Is it okay if I come in for a little bit?" It's late, and Tim's parents think he's in bed. He could probably get away with staying until morning, but Dick never has that kind of time for him.

“Oh,” says Dick. “Yeah, sure. Always nice to have you.” He ushers Tim in, but Tim still gets the sense that he’s interrupting. Or something. 

"I had the night off," Tim says, perching on the edge of one of Dick's chairs. "But I wanted to do some detective work anyway."

“Oh yeah?” says Dick. “Hey, want a drink or something?” 

"Root beer, please," Tim says. Dick almost always has root beer for him. "Have you talked to Bruce lately?"

“Uh,” says Dick. “Yeah, he caught on that I tipped you off, actually.”

"That was my fault," Tim says. He hasn't been looking forward to this part. "I didn't have a good lie figured out. I'm sorry." That's twice already he's had to say sorry to Dick tonight.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” says Dick. “He likes having reasons to be annoyed with me.” He says that, and then winces, because Tim is one hundred percent aware of how Dick and Bruce feel about each other, but Dick still usually and awkwardly tries to pretend it isn’t like that. “Anyway, uh, should you really be out on your own?”

"I just came to see you," Tim says, which is disingenuous for two reasons. One, he's been doing a lot more on his own than visiting Dick, and two, he's not even supposed to go to Bludhaven.

Dick says, “Well, call first, right?” and then looks sad about it.

"Oh," Tim says. "Okay. Is someone coming over? I can go." He's not going without a few more answers, though.

“Maybe,” says Dick. “Probably not. Anyway, you’re here, you can stay. I can give you a ride home.”

"If you want," Tim says, secretly a little grateful. "Hey, can I ask you something? You're still Gotham a little. What do you think of Red Hood?"

“ _Tim_ ,” says Dick. “Oh my god. Did you come here to--? Bruce would kill me. Absolutely not.”

"There are so many worse people I could be asking," Tim says. "Dick, I keep running into him, and I don't know what to _do_. I don't know how to handle Bruce when he gets like that. You have no idea."

Dick frowns at him, holds up a finger, and goes to get Tim his root beer. When they’ve both had a drink, Dick says, “Gets like what?”

"Just shuts down," Tim says. "Last time, anyway." He can't explain the awful realization that Bruce isn't going to call the shots with Red Hood there. He has to understand why. And Bruce is barely taking him out anymore, which may or may not be related.

Dick’s eyes widen, and he says, “Oh god,” and then he chokes on his root beer. Tim genuinely can’t tell if the choking is real or if it’s something he’s doing to make Tim forget he said _oh god_.

Tim waits for Dick to get his breath back. Then he says doggedly, "Oh god what?" It's going to feel awful if everybody but him has known about this. What did he do to deserve being left out?

“Oh,” says Dick. “I just can’t imagine Bruce walking you into danger and then losing it like that. I mean, what if something happened?” He manages to look angry by the end of this, so he probably really is.

Tim hadn't thought about it like that, it wasn't really his primary concern, but it's a reasonable point. "He doesn't usually do that, yeah," he says. "Why do you think it happened?"

“Don’t know,” says Dick. “I guess the guy freaks him out. Maybe because he keeps beating Bruce to the punch.”

Tim knows _that's_ not it. Bruce can't imagine what he does and what Red Hood does as being the same.

"Red Hood was talking like he knows him," Tim says.

“Weird,” says Dick. 

Dick actually has a great poker face. Tim has no idea if he knows more than he's saying. "Bruce won't tell me anything," Tim says. "Was he like that with you? Back then, I mean."

“You mean private and standoffish and stupidly secretive?” Dick says. “Sure. I mean, he was kind of nice about it at the beginning. But when you want anything more, he starts to freak out. He’s done it to everybody. Sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

Tim chews his lip. He didn't really want this Red Hood situation to raise bigger questions about Bruce, and what it means to be Robin, but it has. It doesn't matter. Tim can put up with anything, if it means getting to do this.

"This isn't just keeping secrets, though," Tim says. "He froze."

Dick looks about to say something, but he takes a swig of soda. Tim is almost certain he’s about to choke himself again, but he makes the mistake of meeting Tim’s eye and just looks chagrined around the bottom of the can.

"You can tell me," Tim says hopefully. "I'll probably be safer if you do." Playing on Dick's feelings isn't fair, but he really has to know.

“You’ll be safer if you stay home,” says Dick. “And don’t, please don’t try to fight with me. You know what I think. Robins are a damned mistake.”

"It's not fair," Tim says, then immediately wishes he hadn't. "It's easy to say that, you don't need to be Robin to be allowed to do this."

Dick looks uncomfortable. “Well maybe if I knew how to be anything else,” he says.

"Why would you want to be?" Tim asks. "Look, I just want to help him, and I can't do that if I don't know what's wrong." He misjudged. He can play on Dick's feelings all he wants, but if Dick does know something and it's dangerous to Tim, he'll never tell.

Dick echoes, “Why would I want to be? Tim--listen. I know you never do listen, but just hear me out for a sec, okay? Being Robin feels--righteous and exciting and important, I know that. I completely get it. When it was me--and I was the first, you know? I was doing something nobody in the world did. I get why you feel a certain way about it.”

"But?" Tim asks. He drinks his root beer so he won't feel a lump in his throat.

“It goes wrong,” Dick says. “Something always goes wrong. Something bad happens in the world, to you, and even if you recover, Bruce doesn’t.”

Tim thinks about that. He knows that story--he thinks it's the story Bruce tells himself, too. "I've seen what happens to him alone," he says quietly. "I didn't just become Robin because I wanted it. I did it because he needs it."

“Yeah,” says Dick, a little aggressively. “And that’s the worst reason. Because if it kills you, you’ll both think you had to die.”

Tim doesn't think about death a lot. He just thinks about the job that's in front of him. He can't wrap his head around anything else. "I didn't come here to be talked out of being Robin," he says flatly.

Dick sighs. “No, of course you didn’t. Why did you come?” He says it like he’s reengaging, not like it’s a challenge.

"To find out more about Red Hood," Tim says. "Because that really _does_ feel dangerous. Bruce isn't himself, and those fights don't feel safe."

Dick frowns. “How so?”

"We let two criminals get away because he froze," Tim says. It suddenly feels bad, telling Dick this. "And I don't think he knows how to fight Red Hood. But Red Hood is ready to fight us."

Dick sighs. “Listen,” he says. “And okay, yes, I know you’re not. But do, okay? Tim: you can’t fix this. I know you’re smart and tough and bullheaded. I know you get Bruce probably more than anyone but Babs. But he’ll let you get hurt, and it won’t even help.”

Tim hops up. "I have to go," he says. His chest feels tight, and this wasn't even useful.”

“Hey,” says Dick. “I meant it about the ride. Come on, let’s talk about something else and I’ll take you back.”

"Oh," Tim says. "Yeah, thank you." He tries not to be too upset, because Dick, even if he never gives Tim quite what he wants, is just good through and through. Tim just wishes he could stop looking to Bruce for the things he can get from Dick.

Dick gives him a relieved smile, then that hopeful look he gets when he’s not sure if Tim likes him as much as he’d like Tim to like him. “We can stop and get chicken nuggets,” he says. “You think maybe?”

Tim feels bad, but he also loves Dick, and for both those reasons, he's able to smile at Dick and mean it. He can always try again tomorrow, with someone who's more likely to talk.


	8. Harvey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Accidentally posted two chapters at once, so this half is being reposted separately. The bad shit goes down with Harvey in this chapter and the aftermath carries on afterwards. Take care!

**HARVEY**

Harvey hasn't seen Jonathan in over a month, and he hasn't seen Eddie in longer than that. It's getting under his skin. He doesn't miss them, exactly, but it's pissing him off that they think they can do without him. They haven't been making the news much, either, so he isn't exactly sure _what_ they're doing without him.

Then, at 10:30 in the morning on a Tuesday, Harvey sees Jon. He's two people in line ahead of Harvey at Trader Joe's, where Harvey is buying a bag of pine nuts. Harvey has his hat low over his eyes, but that's just a gesture. Everyone knows it's him. There's nobody in line _behind_ him.

He clears his throat. The person in front of him makes a noise and steps out of line.

Jon turns, sees him, freezes. He, unlike the first person, doesn’t budge from his spot. The people in front of him step forward and he shuffles after them, still holding his basket and staring at Harvey. 

"Buying brunch?" Harvey asks icily. Jonathan is a brunch person. Harvey is going to break Jonathan in half if he tries to ignore him. Harvey feels his fingers itch for his coin. Maybe how this interaction goes will be left to chance.

“Household essentials,” Jon says. 

"Here?" Harvey takes his coin out and rolls it across his knuckles, considering. "Well, to each his own. Been a while."

Jon says, “That’s your fault.” The line moves. He steps forward. “Really, Harvey, in a grocery store?”

"A grocery store is where we are," Harvey says. "But we can take this outside." He shifts the pine nuts to the crook of his elbow so he can flip his coin.

“No,” says Jon. “Thank you.”

"Let's let the coin decide," Harvey says. "Clean side, we take this outside and talk. Scarred side, I beat you in front of this clerk." He flips. "Pity," he says, and it really is. "Buy your stuff. Then let's go."

Jon swallows and steps up to the register. The cashier obviously hasn’t heard any of their conversation, because she’s perfectly normal and friendly. Possibly she hasn’t seen Harvey, or possibly she just considers this kind of thing part of her everyday life. 

Jon rushes out the door as soon as he’s handed a receipt. Harvey isn’t sure if he’s going to wait or not.

Harvey buys his pine nuts at his own pace, even smiling at the still-pleasant cashier. He has no doubt that he'll be able to catch up, either way. He takes his change, carefully depositing it into a pocket that doesn't hold his coin. He's made that mistake before. Then he goes outside to see what's what.

Jon is waiting against the brick wall, paper bag couched between his feet, arms crossed, looking murderously at Harvey. 

"You didn't leave," Harvey says, pleasantly surprised. Jon's not always as much of a coward as he seems. "So, are we gonna talk, or what?"

“I have frozen foods,” Jonathan says stonily.

"We can go to your place," Harvey says. He's in a good mood today, or he'd already be beating Jon senseless. Being walked out on feels lousy, and Jon was supposed to be on his team for good.

Jon gives him a long stare and then says, “I drove.”

"I didn't," Harvey says. "So give me a lift." Jon may spit like a cat when he's cornered, but Harvey is completely in control of this one.

Jon nods shortly, and starts off across the parking lot.

Harvey follows, at a safe distance. Just in case. Once they're in the car--he slams the door too hard to see if Jon jumps--he says, "So. What have you even been doing with yourself?"

“Seeing my clients,” Jon says, words brittle. “Seeing friends. Spring cleaning.”

"Friends," Harvey says. "Say more about that."

Jon sighs. “No, Harvey,” he says, starting the car. “You’re collecting intelligence.”

"Well, I'm trying," Harvey says. "I have to wonder what kind of stories you and Eddie are sharing about me." It's a guess, but it's a pretty damn safe one.

Jon pulls up to the intersection and leans forward to look each way before he turns onto the street. 

“You don’t need to wonder,” says Jon. “You can simply reflect.”

The thing is, Harvey loves Jon. He's sure as hell not going to say it like that right now, but he does. The way Jon's so conscientious about everything, his blunt sense of humor, the whole thing. But now he's gone and fucked Harvey over, and for what?

"I'm reflecting," he says. "You miss me yet?"

“I’m angry,” says Jon. He sounds angry, although slightly less so than when he was breaking up with Harvey.

"Yeah," Harvey says. "Angry. Because I crossed a line you didn't think to draw? Or because I draw lines where you don't?"

“Both, absolutely,” Jon says. “I’m drawing it now. I don’t have to have drawn it before.”

Arguing with Jon isn't like arguing with Eddie. Jon, at least when his head's clear, is unmovable as a rock. "You'll miss me, though," Harvey says. "After your next stint in Arkham, when you're falling apart."

“Are you going to send me there, Harvey?” Jon asks briskly.

"Let's not worry about where I'm going to send you," Harvey says. He's been debating. Hospital, probably. Maybe not. He's got his coin; he'll figure it out. "Let's worry about where you've _been_. You have been hanging out with Eddie, right? How about their boyfriend?" Jon wouldn't, probably, but Harvey's curious about what Jon's dynamic with Eddie looks like these days. Best case scenario, Eddie is too mad to see him.

“We’re hardly friends,” Jon says, and it’s not clear whether he means Red Hood or Harvey or Eddie; not at all, or just somewhat.

"Do you _have_ any friends these days?" Harvey asks. "I can find out, if I ask around." He smiles at Jon. "Eddie will tell me."

“Don’t be tacky,” Jon snaps. Tacky doesn’t seem like the right word, but it’s the sort of thing that Jon says when he’s above water. 

"Don't be stubborn," Harvey counters. Being in a car with Jon is frustrating. He finds that he misses him more than he wants to break his jaw. Oh well, his options are still open.

“Why do you need to know?” Jon says. “No one was plotting against you. If anyone doesn’t want to see you, that’s their business and your own fault. Who I’m seeing isn’t relevant.”

"You got pretty damn sure of yourself without me around," Harvey growls. "It wasn't too long ago we were threatening Eddie together." He'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt his feelings a little.

“Everything is fleeting,” Jon says.

"You won't be so glib when I get my hands on you," Harvey says. Jon can take it as a threat or a promise, but he's always been pretty fear-based.

Jon grips the wheel and doesn’t answer. 

"Does Eddie even _let_ you hang out with them?" Harvey asks. "Or are you too much of a bad guy now?"

“I haven’t burned my bridges, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Jon says tightly. 

"You haven't with me, either," Harvey suggests.

“Is that contingent on whether I let you break my bones and throw me naked into the street?” Jon asks. “Because I’d like to weigh my options, in that case.”

"Attractive as those options are…" Harvey takes his coin out and plays with it. "Well, let's see." He flips and catches it, not sure in the moment what outcome he's hoping for. He looks down at his palm, not letting Jon see it. Finally he says, "Let's go back to your place and I'll kiss you."

There’s a spot of bright color high on Jon’s cheek, but Harvey, being realistic, doesn’t think he’s blushing. 

“It’s that easy?” Jon says. “I left you. I don’t regret it.”

"It's never that easy," Harvey says. "We're going to do some work together. You're going to make things up to me."

“I’m not,” Jon snarls. They pull onto his street.

Jon always gives in. It's just a question of when, and Harvey doesn't mind working for it. Fear and lust are both easy levers to lean on.

Jon says nothing else until they pull in at his condo. He yanks up the handbrake, climbs out of the car, says, “You can’t come in,” and slams the door. A second later he takes the groceries out of the trunk and storms his way up the steps.

Harvey gets out slowly and saunters up the walkway after Jon, making himself as present as possible. "I am coming in," he says conversationally.

“I’m done,” Jon says, fighting with the lock. “You never learn anything from anything.”

Harvey puts his hand on Jon's. "Let me," he says, taking Jon's key. He learns. Jon just doesn't like what he does with the information.

Jon is staring at him in a white hot fury. It’s always there, beneath any collected surface he manages to put together. When Harvey pushes the door open, he doesn’t move, as if stepping inside is the same as an invitation.

"I'm going to come in anyway, for fuck's sake," Harvey says. "Look, I just want to talk, how about that? Hand to god."

“I don’t believe you,” Jon says, but he goes in.

Harvey follows. He puts down the goddamn pine nuts, which he doesn't even want anymore, on the table. Jon's condo hasn't changed. It rarely does.

"Stop acting like I'm going to attack you," Harvey says. "I want to mend fences. You look like you're in a better place. I know I am." If Jon is hanging around Red Hood, Harvey is going to break his fingers.

“How?” says Jon. He walks off with his groceries before Harvey answers.

Harvey follows. Jon has always been pretty good at boxing himself in. He doesn't answer the question. "Look, has Eddie said anything about me? I want to make things right with them, too. It's not like I did anything that bad."

Jon starts putting things away, carefully setting one item at a time in cupboards, freezer, under the sink. 

“It’s not for me to tell you how bad it was,” he says. “I’m not Eddie.”

"Well, I didn't do anything that bad to _you_ ," Harvey says sharply. "Not yet."

Jon looks at him incredulously. “I hope you’re not going to say it’s no worse than Arkham or Batman,” he says. “Because _they_ are not my intimate partner.”

"You _begged_ me to hurt you," Harvey says.

“I had an idea,” Jon says. “I wanted you to listen. Or do you mean chronically? Because you’ve never been a good partner. You’re a jailer. You’re--” He stops, his rush of words tumbling to a halt. But it’s too late already. For all the times their relationship has struggled, Jon has never had the guts to go this far.

Harvey takes two steps toward Jon, almost without thinking. "Are you really complaining now?" he demands. "You can't survive on your own. Nobody's gonna do what I did for you."

Jon holds his ground. It's like he thinks he's in a completely different conversation, with a completely different person. "You lied to me," he says. “You said--you lied, about Eddie. You lied.”

"What?" Harvey says. "What did I lie about?" It's not that he can't remember, it's that there are so many things. The two of them required a lot of management when they were all living together.

“Before they left, and then they left,” Jon says, rough and unclear. “You said things to make me stop--trusting them. You said--” Harvey watches him try to collect himself. Which is good, because Harvey wants to hear him say it.

"What did I say?" Harvey asks, letting his voice go deep and menacing. He remembers.

“You said I made them sick,” Jon says in a small, proud voice. “You said--you held me _down_ and you said, while you were--you said they didn’t want me and you were a relief because they didn’t have to touch me as much anymore. You said they were humoring me for you. You said I’m a, a--” He stops and swallows. “You were lying to me.” Despite his bravery, it still sounds like a question. 

"Was I?" Harvey asks. Which answer will hurt Jon more? All he wants in this moment is to hurt him. He's past anything else. "Well, I guess you'll never know, Jon, now that you're back together."

Jon holds in his answer for a few seconds, and then says, “I’m not.”

Harvey feels a surge of vicious delight. "Ah," he says. "Of course you're not. That makes a lot more sense. Well, draw your own conclusions about that, I guess."

Jon says, “We were friends before you, Harvey.”

"I can't believe you're blaming me for everything that's wrong with your life," Harvey says. "You know who's a shitty ex? You are." Harvey can say whatever he wants. He has all the power here.

Jon says, “Good. Fine. So go away.” God, all the bravado is just leaking out of him. It makes Harvey feel as angry as it does triumphant.

Harvey takes a step toward Jon, boxing him in a little more. "Not yet."

“I know what you’re afraid of,” Jon says, backing up. One of his grocery bags, responsible canvas, slumps, and Jon’s eyes flick to it.

"Afraid?" Harvey asks. "Tell me what I'm afraid of." Jon can talk all he wants, it isn't going to change the situation. Harvey's coin burns, waiting for him to do the right thing.

Jon is shaking, and he can’t keep his eyes on Harvey. But still, he says, “You’re afraid of never being important again.”

"Important?" Harvey snaps. Who the hell is Jonathan to tell him that? "I'm important to a lot more people than you. But I bet you and Eddie can't shut up about me either. When you're spending time together as _just friends_."

“Tell me who wants you,” Jon says, pale and hunching backwards. Trapped between the island and the counters around the wall. “Not me, not Eddie, not Gotham because you’re too damaged, you’re too _ugly_ , not Batman because you’re not _Joker_ , not your father, not your _wife_ , you’re nothing, Harvey, your only something is breaking every--”

Harvey, in a white-hot fury, grabs Jonathan by the forearms, bruisingly hard. Jon chokes on whatever word was about to come next. A few seconds hang between them, only broken by their heavy breathing--Harvey’s furious, Jonathan’s panting and anxious.

Then Jon swallows. He says, carefully, “Hand to god, you just want to talk.”

Harvey is so livid at being called out that his vision goes white for a second. "We tried talking," he spits. "Turns out you don't know when to stop." Then he slaps Jon so hard that his head snaps back.

Jon grunts and staggers, but his other arm is still caught in Harvey’s grip. He stares up at Harvey, one side of his face an ugly red, eyes wet. There. Now he’s really afraid.

"What are you and Eddie doing without me?" Harvey asks, low and dangerous. He doesn't care about the answer anymore, though. He can see so clearly what's going to happen. He puts pressure on Jon's arm, wishing he could tear it off.

“Not your business,” Jon says, quick and muttering. “Doesn’t matter.” He reaches forward like he’s going to claw at Harvey’s grip, then jerks his hand away again. He knows better. Not that good behavior is going to help him now.

"What did you think was going to happen when you left?" Harvey snarls. Before Jon can answer and make Harvey angrier, Harvey shoves Jon hard, sending him off balance to stumble awkwardly against the counter. Jon’s knees hit the cabinets, and the pots and pans inside rattle. Both Jon’s cheeks are bright red. They do that, when Harvey scares him. 

"What will you do to make me stop?" Harvey asks. What a joke. He's not going to stop.

Jon leans against the cupboards, breathing hard, and blinks at Harvey. Harvey can see him now--the Jonathan Crane that he knows so well. Crazy and a coward. Harvey’s so blinded by contempt that for a moment he doesn’t realize that Jon is reaching behind himself for a knife.

Harvey hits Jon full in the face, then grabs his wrist and wrenches it behind his back, dragging Jon up against his body. Jon howls as his arm twists. 

"That was never going to work," Harvey says. He can hear his own voice shaking with rage, and he loves how it sounds. "What are you afraid of, Jon? You're the fear expert. Am I going to kill you?"

Jon makes an awful noise, and something wet hits Harvey’s arm where it crosses Jon’s chest.

Harvey laughs, although he doesn't feel like laughing. "Hard to say, huh? I'm going to do whatever the coin told me before we came in here." His arm tightens around Jon's chest.

Jonathan isn’t exactly fighting, but Harvey can feel every shallow breath. “Stop it,” says Jon. Rough voice, but Scarecrow isn’t scary to Harvey Dent.

Harvey lets go of Jonathan's arm and slams him face first into the cabinets above the counter. Jon screams loudly enough that if there are neighbors home, they probably hear. Jon fights to get away, but wild as he is, Harvey is pure muscle. “Die in Arkham!” Jon spits at him. “I hope you go and die there!”

"Who the fuck looks crazy now?" Harvey snaps. "You're a lunatic. You're nothing." He belts Jon across the face again, with all his strength. Jon drops, just crumbles down to the floor and lies there with his hands on his face. Harvey can hear him sob, but only barely over the rush of blood in his ears. 

Harvey kicks Jon in the face, the ribs--anywhere he can reach, and Jon's arms aren't much of a barrier. When he pauses to take a breath, he opens one of Jon's cabinets and grabs a flat, heavy pan. He stands over Jon for a second, heart pounding, thinking, _I'm really going to kill him._ Somehow it feels easy. The choice isn't his, anyway. This was always going to happen. He digs his toe into Jon's ribs roughly and rolls him over before hitting him with the pan.

Jon sobs, "Two-Face isn’t real. You just want this. You’re just like this." He curls up like a pill bug and begs, “Flip again, flip it again.”

Harvey has already made the decision. But circumstances change, and there are variables in play now that weren't before. And he can't resist that moment where the choice is taken out of his hands, furious as he is. He strikes Jon once more for good measure, drops the pan with a clang, and flips the coin. Scarred side he kills Jon here and now, clean side he doesn't.

When the coin comes down, he doesn't say a word. Let Jon be in suspense for a second. He deserves that. He deserves a lot.

"Next time," Harvey says finally. "But no promises about your friends."

Jon sobs, but he’s not entirely stupid. He doesn’t get up. He doesn’t fight. He’s done insulting Harvey to his face.

"I know how to hurt Eddie," Harvey says. "It's easy. But your new friend Red Hood? That's taken me some work to figure out. We all have soft spots. Batman may be mine, but Robin is his. And Robin is easy to hurt, too." Harvey remembers when they were going to hurt Robin together, and he can't stand to look at Jon anymore. He turns and leaves, slamming the back door so hard the house shakes.

**JON**

Pieces, it comes together in--Jon can’t think. Harvey won’t come back? He might come back. There’s no rules, just the coin, but he flips more than once about a lot of things. He might come back. Jon is several different objects, which don’t want to move together. He picks up each object, and they all scream at him, and when he finally gets to his feet he leaves bloody handprints on the counter. Sink, water. Stings his face. Everything is on fire with pain. He fumbles a drawer open and pulls out a handful of dish cloths, then locks the back door, then hides in the bathroom until Harvey is gone. The towels are better in here. He didn’t think.

When the cab picks Harvey up and really drives away, Jon takes steps, he moves his feet through the front door and into his car. Driving requires things Jon doesn’t have anymore, but he does it. At least, he thinks. It feels like he’s moving. No other thought is possible, so he fixates on one point and throws himself towards it. He barely sees the traffic.

He barely sees the club, when he reaches it, and the idea of arguing with the guards who are casually pretending not to be guards fills him with gasping panic. Moving fills him with panic. So he pulls up in front of them and leans on the horn instead. What if Harvey got here first? What if Harvey came here? Jon thinks he is making noises, and then he thinks of what Harvey would say about those noises, and then someone jerks the car door open, and it’s not Harvey yet, and Jon doesn’t think 

anything.

He wakes up in a darker place. Couch maybe.

After a disorienting minute, someone says, "Are you conscious?"

Oswald.

Jonathan is lying down. He still feels bloody. Ribs feel wrong. Arm feels wrong. Head feels very wrong. Maybe other things. 

Jon says, “Is Harvey here?” He sounds like nothing. Not himself. Not a person.

"No," Oswald says slowly, as if he's not sure what conclusion to draw from that question. "Are you asking me to call him?"

“No. No. No. No,” says Jon, fiercely burning through, needing to rise, needing to bolt.

"I understand," Oswald says. "Don't move, you have several broken bones. You need a doctor. A doctor is the only person I'm going to call," he says, voice softening.

“Oh,” says Jon. He can’t see straight. Blurring. There’s something important. He can’t find it, but he thinks he finds it. “Car,” he says. Do his words sound like words? They hurt.

"Yes," Oswald says. "My people parked it out back. I wasn't sure who might be after you. Now it's a little clearer. Do you need something from it?"

Jon doesn’t, so he doesn’t answer. “Take you to Arkham,” he says unclearly. When you go to a hospital.

Oswald is quiet for a minute, possibly untangling that. Then he says, "Ah. No. Not my doctor. He's used to...unusual situations."

Then there’s nothing else to talk about. Unless Jon has to move. No, it doesn’t matter. He’s not going to move. 

"He's on his way, anyway," Oswald says. "Tell me, can I expect Harvey to show up at my door, guns blazing?" His voice drips with disdain.

“Flips it,” says Jon. You never know when.

"Well, if he does, you're not here," Oswald says briskly. "I don't mind turning him away--in whatever form that takes--but no need to court trouble."

Not here. Jon shuts his eyes. Not here, or anywhere else. Fear and cruel words and pain are clamoring at him, but since he isn’t here, he can’t possibly answer them. Something is still missing. Not car. Not--it’s gone. This all hurts; too much to sleep through, but enough to disappear. 

When Jon resurfaces next, he's somewhere else. A bed, but the decor around him suggests that he's still at the Iceberg. He's in a small room with a mini-fridge and a door leading to what looks like a bathroom. The lights are low. There's someone guarding the door, and when he notices that Jon's awake, he nods to him and radios someone.

"Boss, he's awake," he says. He glances at Jon. "You are awake, right?"

“I’m awake,” says Jon. He can’t move his face the way he expects. It doesn’t hurt as much. It still hurts. Think back? There was a long, bad thing, and it was very loud. Like saws bearing down on him. Strangers. Things hurt. He shifts slightly, and understands that his ribs are wrapped. Shifts again, and realizes his left arm is braced in something. He’s awake. 

Somewhere in that thought process, or after it, he realizes that Oswald is there again, peering at him. The guard is gone. "Hello," Oswald says. "Feeling any better? Again, don't move."

Jon feels a bitter rush of shame so strong it chokes him.

“Better,” he says. His right hand drifts up to his face. The first brush of his fingers against the stitches makes him gasp. 

"Like I said," Oswald says. "You were very badly banged up, I understand." His eyes narrow. "Forgive me if this is gauche, but is this anything to do with what you told me the other day?"

“Harvey,” says Jon. He wants to scream. He needs out. He needs, Oswald has to stop looking at him. 

"Harvey is a shit-head who thinks he's a gangster," Oswald says calmly.

“Stupid,” says Jon. He’s already tired. He hates drugs. Better to hurt. Something is _missing_. 

Eddie?

"You argued?" Oswald asks, seemingly very far away.

“I’m not here,” says Jon.

"Ah," Oswald says. "Well, no. Let's give it time. You're badly hurt, on a lot of medication, and, I'd imagine, fairly upset. But you're safe."

Jon is burning. “Safe. Thank you,” he says. He doesn’t want Oswald to see him. He doesn’t want to be left alone. 

Oswald says, "Wait here just one second." He retreats into the hall, then reappears pushing a chair on wheels. He wedges it in next to Jonathan's bed and takes a seat. "There we are," he says. "I won't be missed out there for a few hours yet." Jon doesn't even know what time it is.

He says, “Kind of you,” because it is, and because if he has to say anything more, it will be bad. It’s bad. It’s so bad, and Harvey will find him here, it’s bad and Harvey is going to _find_ him here. 

"I don't know how much you remember of last time you were awake," Oswald says carefully. "I did put your car somewhere less conspicuous. And you. You're in one of the back rooms at the club."

Jon nods, head spinning. “Concussion?” He’s a doctor. He’s not stupid. They’re stupid, if they didn’t take him out of here to get an MRI.

"Yes," Oswald says. "My doctor sees a lot of head injuries. You've been lucky. Well." He looks Jon up and down. "Not that lucky. You'll be off your feet for a few weeks at best."

“Here?” Jon says. He locked the doors when he left the house. Where are his keys? He thought he had his phone. Maybe not. He didn’t call anyone.

"Here," Oswald says firmly. "You can't go to a hospital and you're not going home. I'm sorry, but I'm putting my foot down."

The thing on Jon’s arm is an air cast. He finally thinks to look. 

“All right,” he says. 

"And I can't promise I won't nag you or try to find out more about what happened, for my own protection," Oswald says. "But I can promise that Harvey won't set foot in the Iceberg."

Oswald, Jon reminds himself, employs many people who are genuinely good at protecting certain people and fighting off certain others. Oswald himself is probably a very good shot. If shooting is something that might happen. If someone were to shoot Harvey. They would probably hit him.

“I don’t think he’d send someone,” Jon says. It’s hard to make that many words in a row, which is infuriating even through the drugs.

"Even better," Oswald says. "I have to say, ideally he wouldn't show up, but if he did, I wouldn't mind dealing with it. Given the level of...upset he's caused."

Jon doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about anyone. Anything. He should say something appropriate, but moving around where thoughts should be are sludgy, poisonous shapes.

Jon says, “It’s very upsetting.”

He doesn’t mean to say that.

"Yes," Oswald says. He looks as if he might say more, but he doesn't. He pats Jon on the shoulder, one of the few places that doesn't hurt. "Let me know I can do anything to help," he adds eventually. "Otherwise, I'll make my own arrangements."

 _Eddie_ , Jon thinks, _I need--_ , but another flush of shame rushes through him and wipes all other thoughts away. “Clothes,” he says. He doesn’t know whose clothes he’s wearing now. He doesn’t want to think about them changing him. He doesn’t remember that part and he hates it. _Eddie_ , his mind insists, and he says roughly, “I will pay. For all this.”

"What?" Oswald says. "Oh, no, don't think of it. It's not an imposition. We have a good relationship. That's how things work around here. No payment needed."

It’s too much to think about that, so Jon just shuts his eyes. Maybe Oswald understands that it’s a thank you. Oswald already seems to understand more than that, which is terrible, so Jon doesn’t open his eyes again. Outside, it’s quiet and careful. Inside, it’s a dark, roaring, unforgiving place, a mixture of feelings he doesn’t want to pick apart and which would try to kill him if he made the attempt. 

He lets that take over for a little bit. Somewhere inside that, it seems like he falls back asleep.

**DICK**

Dick has just stopped looking over his shoulder for Bruce when he goes on patrol, both in and out of costume. The city has been busy, and Bruce probably has enough to deal with. Tonight DIck's guard is really down. Roy is over, and now that he's asleep, Dick is still up making hot chocolate. Roy can sleep anywhere and any time, but Dick's sleep schedule is all screwed up by work and...work.

He finishes making the hot chocolate and goes to the living room to drink it, so he can keep an eye out the window. He still keeps looking for Jason to come back.

But it’s not Jason who turns up. Of _course_ it isn’t. It’s Batman, glaring through his window like a cat, or a ghost.

"Oh no," Dick says under his breath. He considers not opening the window. He considers pulling the blinds down and just going to bed. Instead, he sighs and opens the window. "Hey," he whispers. "Roy is asleep. So either go away or be quiet."

Bruce, climbing inside, manages to look deeply uncomfortable inside the cowl. It’s hard to tell with Bruce whether that’s internalized homophobia or just prudishness. It’s annoying, either way. Dick is an adult. 

“I need to know something,” he says grimly.

"You're the world's greatest detective," Dick says, feeling snappish. "I'm sure you can figure it out, whatever it is."

Bruce jumps over his words.

“ _Did you know?”_

For a second Dick doesn't know what he's talking about. Then he thinks he does, and that's much worse. He knew Bruce would find out and he'd get blamed for it somehow.

"Tell me what you know," he says cautiously.

“Jason,” Bruce says raggedly. “It’s him.”

Dick swallows. "He begged me not to tell you." _Begged_ might be a little strong, but it was important to Jason, and Dick knows where his loyalties have to lie. But now, face to face with Bruce, it feels pretty cruel.

Bruce sags. “No,” he says. 

"I'm sorry," Dick says. Oh, this sucks. "I haven't known for long. He showed up to warn me about people gunning for Tim. He took his hood off."

“He--” Bruce shakes his head. “He was your source. Of course.”

"I couldn't tell you." Okay, Dick feels awful now. He knows how Bruce is about Jason, but he's always been in this weird position of trying to play both sides with them. "I couldn't tell you and risk him never showing up here again."

“What’s happened to him?” Bruce asks roughly. “How did those animals brainwash him like this?”

"Excuse me?" Dick asks. Bruce can be so goddamn…Bruce. "That's not it."

“I saw them,” Bruce says shortly. “I know what it is.”

"Do you?" Dick says. "Or is this some of what you always saw in Jason and didn't want it?" This isn't Dick vs. Jason thing, but god, it feels like it is for a second.

“ _No,_ ,” says Bruce, “I--” He collapses in a little. “They were eating pastry.”

"What," Dick says, "Jason and the Riddler? _Jason_ was eating pastry? Maybe he is brainwashed." Inside, though, there's a small and vicious part of him that's happy for Jason to be doing anything as normal as eating pastry.

“It’s not a joke!” Bruce snaps. “It was the Riddler and the Scarecrow. In the middle of the day. I was running an _errand._ ” 

"The Scarecrow?" Dick hesitates. "He's one of the ones Jason said was going after Tim." That doesn't add up. Unless it does, and they're friends, and Jason just got cold feet or something.

“Because something is terribly wrong!” Bruce thunders.

"Bruce!" Dick hisses. "My _boyfriend_ is _asleep_." He takes any opportunity to remind Bruce that that's what Roy is. "Look, come sit on the couch and stop being so--just come sit."

Bruce hesitates, scowling, and then the expression sinks, and he sits. 

“I don’t understand what’s happening, Dick,” he says. 

"Neither do I, entirely," Dick says, taking pity on him. "But we know some of it, right? We know why he's angry." Jason has always been angry, and Bruce has given him one more big reason.

“Whatever he thinks I’ve done,” says Bruce in a tone that makes Dick immediately regret being nice, “does that excuse becoming a murderer? Does it excuse associating with people like _that?_ ”

"I don't know," Dick says, needled. "Is that where you're at? Still passing judgment first and doing everything else second or not at all? I thought you missed him."

“It’s a question!” Bruce says. “I’m trying to understand.”

It doesn’t sound like understanding, but Bruce does come at emotions from only the wrong directions.

"You can ask those questions," Dick says, "but not if you want him to talk to you. If you want that, you have to start somewhere else. I did. It's not that hard." For Bruce it is, though.

“He’ll never let me try,” says Bruce. “He hates me, Dick. And now I don’t know if it’s because I’ve failed him or because someone else has twisted his mind or both.”

"Jason's not exactly easily twisted," Dick says, exasperated. And yes, it's worrying to know who he's hanging out with, especially the Scarecrow, but Dick doesn't know the whole story there.

“Then it’s worse than I thought,” Bruce says. Before Dick can yell at him, he says painfully, “I have to get him away from them.”

"And do what?" Dick demands. "Yell at him some more? What the hell kind of result are you going to get from that?" Bruce has never known how to approach Jason in a way where anyone gets what they want, and this is no exception.

“I didn’t yell last time!” Bruce says, which is in fact _almost_ yelling. 

"Shh," Dick says, trying to be patient. "What did you do? Stalk him when he was out on a date?" A date. Now there's an upsetting thought. Dick immediately wishes he'd said something else. He wishes it even more when he sees Bruce’s horrified face.

"I was just kidding," Dick says quickly. "But seriously, if all you do is follow him around, stare, and yell, of course he's not going to talk to you. But that's not the problem, is it?"

“I didn’t yell,” Bruce says again. “I asked him if the tart was good.”

Dick blinks at him. "You--what?"

“I--panicked,” says Bruce. “He was sitting at a table, with them, at a patisserie downtown, where I--where we’d been before. I kept getting in people’s way, and Jason saw me, and I panicked. _How’s the lemon tart_.” He shoots Dick a look that invites him to join in the horror.

"Oh my god," Dick says, covering his mouth. "Bruce, sometimes you're just the most awkward person alive." Against his better judgment, he puts his arm around Bruce and quickly squeezes his shoulder before pulling back. "Okay, that's not the worst start, though."

“ _Dick,_ ” Bruce starts, but then something happens, and Dick feels it coming, and Bruce says, in the absolute quietest, most desolate voice: “I buried him.”

"Yeah," Dick says. "And now he's back. Do you want to lose him twice?"

“Of course not,” says Bruce. “But I think he _is_ lost. And I don’t know how to help.”

"I know what he'd say," Dick says reluctantly. It's not a topic he wants to broach.

“What?” Bruce says. “How?” As in, Dick thinks, what would he say and how does Dick know?

"He'd say you could get rid of the Joker," Dick says. "That's obviously what he wants. He's not making any secret of that." Dick's not even 100% sure that he's wrong, but that's a whole other consideration, and one he can't bring up with Bruce.

Bruce is silent for a minute. “Is that insane?”

"What?" Dick says. He and Bruce are great at talking past each other, but...what?

“I dream about Jason coming back,” says Bruce. “But not like this. All I want--I just want it fixed. Even part of it. What if it’s not insane?”

Dick is hit by two emotions at the same time. Disbelief that he's hearing this, and then, on top of it, a huge amount of anger. Bruce would do _anything_ for Jason, and only for Jason. "What exactly do you want to do?" he says. He knows his voice sounds screwed up when he says it, angry and strangled.

“What do you want me to do?” Bruce says. “Leave him where he is? Do _nothing_ to make up for it? He’s killing, and in pain, and he’s relying on the _Scarecrow_ instead of us. Damn it, Dick, I have to do _something_ , and it’s the only thing he’s ever asked for!”

"I'm just having trouble wrapping my head around this," Dick says. "You said no killing. Not ever." He doesn't want to make it sound like he's talking Bruce out of this, but what is this?

“I know,” says Bruce. “I’m--it is insane. You’re right.” He looks hopeless, in a way Dick hasn’t seen him _let_ himself look since it happened. 

"Wait," Dick says. He puts his hand on Bruce's arm, which feels ineffective through the suit. "I'm not saying it's a bad idea. Okay? I'm just--surprised. But you're right, we have to do something. Jason's already been in and out of Arkham. This is really bad." Dick might hate the way Bruce gets about Jason, but he's really far from hating Jason.

“ _What?_ ” says Bruce. 

"Oh." Dick bites his lip. "You didn't know? Yeah." It upsets him, too, to think of Jason in there. Jason, who is really just a kid to him, and who isn't as good at defending himself as he thinks he is. Thankfully, it sounds like he has other people to defend him.

“He needs help,” says Bruce. And then, “But he doesn’t want my help. So I don’t know anything else I can do, except...that. Dick, if _he_ goes after the Joker, he’s going to get killed.”

"Are you going to be able to live with yourself if you do that?" Dick asks. "Don't think I'm telling you to stop. Just...think."

Bruce barely lets him finish before he says, “How long have I followed my own rules, Dick? And _all_ of you paid for it. All of you. If it would save Jason in any way--I don’t think I care if I can live with killing the Joker. I already can’t live with not doing it.”

"Wow," Dick says quietly. He's never heard Bruce talk like this, ever. Not about this. He doesn't hate it. "Do you want help?"

Bruce does think, this time.

“I already have Jason’s death on my conscience,” he says. “I already have everything he’s done since he’s come back. I’ve already--ruined things, between you and me. I don’t really want to bring you with me when I murder someone. Feels like a proverbial straw.”

That, Dick thinks, is also deeply selfish, but he lets it go. His whole history with Bruce has been letting things go. "Just be safe," he says. "I'm--glad you're willing to do this for him." He doesn't mean it to come out bitter.

“Dick,” says Bruce. 

"Never mind," Dick says. "You're doing the right thing."

Bruce looks like he wants to say something, or ask for something--but his expression clears of any weakness, and he says gruffly, “Don’t tell Tim.”

"Jesus, Bruce," Dick says. "You really think keeping that a secret is a good idea?"

Bruce says sharply, “He can’t know, Dick.”

"If you keep this from him, he _will_ find out," Dick says. "It's _Tim._ " Tim is the smartest person alive. And if he finds out after the fact, it'll be so much worse.

“He’ll get involved,” Bruce says. “He’ll get hurt. It goes against everything I’ve taught him, and he doesn’t even know about Jason.” 

"Well, you need to tell him about Jason, for one," Dick says. "I'll concede the other points. Just remember you're not the only detective around."

“I’ll keep him busy,” Bruce says, delusionally.

"By keeping him home?" Dick says. "Yeah, I've heard." It might be a small betrayal of Tim to tell Bruce he's been in touch, but it's the service of a greater good, which is making Bruce remember that he's not flying solo.

Bruce looks at him sharply. 

"You can't pick and choose when to have a Robin," Dick says, knowing it won't stick.

Bruce gets stiffly to his feet. “I should go,” he says. “I’ve been intruding. Get some sleep, Dick.”

"Wait," Dick says, although he's so tired his eyes prickle. "Don't leave on a bad note." As if he and Bruce ever have anything but bad notes.

Bruce looks at him and smiles. “I’m not,” he says. “I’m not. I’ll--deal with Tim.” As if that’s not a promise of exactly nothing. “Take care of yourself, all right? You’ll know when it’s done.”

"Please be careful," Dick says. Impulsively, he gives Bruce a quick hug.

After a moment, Bruce pats his back, awkward with his trapped arms. When Dick lets him go, he says, “Thank you. I mean that.” He climbs out the window, as nimble and quiet as a much smaller person. 

Dick drinks a huge glass of water and takes about fifty deep breaths before letting himself back into the bedroom. He wants to see if Roy is awake.

Of course he is.

Or, not of course, because normally if Roy woke up and there was someone unexpected in the other room, he’d bust down the door and tackle them. 

"Hey," Dick says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I feel like I've aged a decade. Did you hear any of that?"

“How much do you want me to know?” Roy says, raising an eyebrow. He has nice eyebrows. They’re thick, and a little darker than his hair. Dick thinks about them a lot when it’s Roy’s turn to sleep on him.

"Let's pretend neither of us knows, maybe," Dick says. He climbs under the covers next to Roy. "Bruce is exhausting."

“Seems fucked up,” Roy says. “You know, on top of normal.”

"I just hope Jason appreciates whatever Bruce does," Dick says. Not that that's Jason's job, but the impact this has on Bruce will be huge. Something good could at least come out of it.

“Jason,” says Roy, which is the only thing he says, but that’s enough. Roy is good at layering multiple judgments into a single syllable. 

"Oh, what?" Dick says. "You'd do the same for any of the ones who came after you."

“I’m not gonna fight,” says Roy. “I get it. Mostly.” He loops his arms around Dick and pulls him in close. 

"Mm," Dick says. He buries his face in Roy's shoulder and breathes him in. "That's nice. I'm so tired."

Roy squeezes him. “Are you going to be able to sleep?” he asks.

"Not yet, I think," Dick says. He raises his eyebrows at Roy.

Roy grins. “Surely I’ll forget everything if you show your ass a little,” he says.

"I'm prepared to fuck for justice," Dick says, pressing against Roy. He would love to forget about Bruce and Jason and Tim for even just ten minutes.

“To justice,” says Roy solemnly, and pulls Dick down.


	9. On Ice

**EDDIE**

Eddie is getting a little frantic. Which is probably unreasonable, but Jon doesn't usually disappear so thoroughly unless he's in Arkham, and he isn't. Eddie checked. At this point, Eddie's been trying to call him for almost three days, and he's just dropped off the map.

Eddie's home, and Jason's over, and Eddie is trying, again, to call Jon. It goes straight to voicemail, which is new in the past day and a half. It had been ringing through.

"Fuck," Eddie says.

“Nothing?” Jay answers. If Eddie wasn’t so worried, it would be gratifying how much Jay seems care. As it is, that’s a side note, and Eddie can’t even think about how nice it is, because Jonathan has been with them constantly since things got better and now he’s just gone.

"I'm trying to think," Eddie says. "Did we say anything that might have upset him the last time we hung out? He sometimes goes radio silent because of stuff like that." It's not that, though. Eddie is stubborn, and Jon will always pick up eventually.

“Don’t think I did,” says Jay, frowning. “I don’t know. He’s weird about things. But I didn’t do anything on purpose, anyway.”

Jay has earned the right to call Jon weird, especially because he _is_ weird, and because Jason clearly likes him. Another horrible possibility crosses Eddie's mind. "Oh shit," they say. "What if he and Harvey got back together?" Their fingers go numb with panic at that thought.

Jay says, “You don’t think that.” But he isn’t stupid. He looks a little sick. 

"I don't know," Eddie says. "Harvey is really good at twisting how people think." They squeeze their phone between their hands, willing it to ring. "I shouldn't have been texting Jon."

Jay says, “You didn’t know. You _don’t_ know. Come on, what other places could he be? Think about it.”

"Work?" Eddie says. "He could be at work. His office was closed when I went over there yesterday, but maybe. Home, I guess? I don't know." Or dead in a ditch somewhere. Jail? It's not impossible.

“We need to go looking, then,” Jay says. “How much firepower do you think I can sneak onto a city bus? Just kidding, I know how much. _Is_ there a bus? To his place?”

"Kind of," Eddie says. "Two buses and a long walk. That's why I haven't…" But really they haven't because they're afraid Jon _will_ be there and will just be totally done with them again.

Jay grabs Eddie’s hand and says, “Hey. Ed. It’s okay, we’re going to find him. If he’s being dumb I’ll yell at him for you, okay? What’s the first bus?”

Eddie stares at Jay. They really want to say something mushy, but they're too frantic over Jon. They lean in and kiss Jay quickly. "This way," they say. "It's the 508, then the 36B. Sorry. It's way out there."

“It’s okay, I said,” Jay says gently. “Lemme grab my coat.”

The trip takes forever, because the first 508 is full (it’s not even rush hour, why aren’t there more _buses_?) and the whole time, Eddie feels like they’re about to snap in two. Jay holds their hand and scares the only person who looks at them weird.

Being out in public with Jay as a barrier between them and any assholes feels like being with Harvey, except it's all the things that were good above Harvey. Harvey kept them safe, until he was the thing they needed to be kept safe from. Jay's just a sweet, protective boyfriend. With claws.

After the buses the the fifteen-minute walk to Jon's condo, Eddie is starting to feel a little stupid. Jon probably just doesn't want to talk right now. Another part of them, though, is panicking even more. What if he's not there? Or if he is, and it's just really bad?

Jay has been quiet the whole time, but now he starts up a string of chatter that makes Eddie distantly think of what he must have been like as a kid, when he wasn’t hitting people like Eddie. He wasn’t that fun as Robin, but Eddie thinks he might have been cute if you were anyone else. Well--anyone else who didn’t expect kids to be obedient and mild-mannered. At the moment, though, it’s hard to hold onto how fond it makes them feel.

When they get to Jon’s house, Eddie takes a deep breath, walks up to the door, and knocks. No answer. They try two more times before they can't stand the waiting anymore.

"Is it crazy if I let myself in?" Eddie says. They still have a key. If Jon hasn't changed the locks.

“No?” Jay says, like it’s never occurred to him to _not_ break into someone’s house.

"Right," Eddie says. Their hand is shaking so much that they have to take a few more deep breaths before they can get the key in. The locks haven't been changed. They step inside and call out, "Jon?" No answer. It _feels_ empty. "Okay," Eddie says, voice shaking a little, but bright, "We'll just go look around."

Jason steps inside behind them and Eddie hears him carefully shut the door. Eddie walks forward through the entryway and into the living room, which are empty.

“Eddie,” says Jay, and there’s something in his voice--but then Eddie sees the kitchen.

"Fuck!" Eddie says loudly.

There's blood everywhere. The cabinets, the counter, the floor. Some of the cabinets are open and there are a few groceries strewn across the kitchen floor. Eddie makes a noise and has to grab the counter for support.

“Ed, there’s blood on the--” says Jay, coming up behind them, and then he says, quietly, “ _Shit_.”

"Oh my god," Eddie says, starting to tear up. "Oh my god, what happened? Is he still here? We have to check."

“There’s blood on the way out the front,” says Jay. “And his car’s not here. But, yeah--I’ll take upstairs. In case.”

"Uh huh," Eddie says. While Jay does that, Eddie doesn't move at all. They just stand in the doorway of the kitchen, looking. It's not even the amount of blood--maybe not so much?--it's that it's everywhere. How did this happen?

A minute or two later--it’s hard to count--Jay comes thumping down the carpeted stairs again. 

“Nothing up there,” he says. “I don’t think he ever went up there. He went out the front door, or--or they did.”

"God," Eddie says. "God, god. Harvey. It had to be Harvey." There are other explanations, but Eddie knows Harvey. He doesn't like to be left.

“Piece of shit,” Jay says, and it’s so helpful for Jay to be genuinely angry about this that Eddie almost cries. Jay says, “Would someone know? If Dent grabbed him? Or--is there somewhere he’d go, if he got away?” Those words are chilling.

"Jon doesn't have that many friends," Eddie says, wiping their eyes and trying to think through the panic. But--Jon had said he'd been reading at Oswald's club. He'd said that before he disappeared. "Let's get a cab to the Iceberg," Eddie says.

The cab driver tries to talk to them, first about what kind of party they’re going to and isn’t it kinda early for that?, then about local politics (“Eh, I dunno, it’s all a big racket to me!”). Jay is from the same part of town and he keeps the driver busy with that for awhile, his hand squeezing Eddie’s so hard it bites. When the cab drops them off in front of Oswald’s club, Jay murmurs under his breath, “I’m packing. Don’t forget.”

"You're the fucking best," Eddie says, feeling wild and numb. "Oswald--should be okay? I think, I guess." Oswald has his own interests very much at heart, and Eddie doesn't always know how that will play out. But he's decent. He can be.

There's one man outside, smoking. "You," he says. "Boss wanted me to radio him if you showed up." He looks at Jay. "Dunno about him." He speaks into one of his lapels. "Hey, Riddler's here. Yeah? Yeah. No, with a friend."

Eddie shifts from foot to foot. Why would Oswald have been looking out for them? Is that a good sign or a bad one?

"He'll be right out," the guy says.

“It’s okay,” Jay whispers. He can’t know that. But he’s being so fucking nice about this.

 _Right out_ turns out to be a lie, since it takes at least five agonizing minutes for Oswald to swing open the door with a spring in his step. At least somebody is happy, Eddie thinks.

“Eddie,” Oswald says. “What’s this?” He points at Jason, who bridles.

"My boyfriend," Eddie says defiantly. "I need to talk to you. Can we come in?"

Oswald says, “Yes, but don’t get hysterical. I had a long night. Nothing to do with you.” He turns away and beckons them inside.

Eddie follows, nerves jangling. They stick close to Jason, as much for his protection as theirs. But the club is empty except for employees, because, as the cab driver said, it's still early.

"I need to find Jon," Eddie tells Oswald.

Oswald motions them to sit, in a three-quarter square of plush chairs. He takes his own seat and raises an eyebrow at them. Jason glances at Eddie and waits for their call.

Eddie sits. They're prepared to jump through any weird hoops Oswald wants to get an answer. If this is the wrong place, they're wasting time.

"This is important," they say. "He's in trouble, Oswald."

“Who told you that?” asks Oswald.

Eddie catches on to that as hope. It's a puzzle piece. Oswald wouldn't ask that, or ask a question in that way, if he didn't know anything. "His house is covered in blood," they say flatly.

“Have you talked to Harvey lately?” Oswald asks, and Jason stiffens.

"No," Eddie says, panic creeping up their throat. "Oswald--what--did he do something?" Of course he did something. "Where's Jon?" Eddie can feel themself about to cry.

Oswald, on the other hand, relaxes. “He’s safe,” he says. “He’s here.”

Eddie feels the panic break and cascade over them before the relief can really register. They burst into tears.

Jay’s arm creeps around their waist and squeezes. Oswald says, “I take it you’ve been worried for awhile.”

"Oh my god," Eddie says, rubbing their face hard. "I've been calling and calling. He's really okay? Can we see him?"

Oswald hesitates, and Eddie’s stomach drops. “I said he’s safe,” Oswald tells them. “And yes, I asked, and you can. But I don’t want you to be surprised.”

“Bad?” Jay asks.

“He made it here under his own power,” says Oswald. “But to be honest, I’m not sure how.”

Eddie stands up, sick to their stomach. "I want to see him _now_."

“Of course,” says Oswald, rising. “He’s been staying in the back, where it’s quiet. Come with me.”

He leads the way, through all the public spaces and back through black double doors, past the kitchen and down another hallway. “I keep some rooms here. You’d be surprised how often a friend needs a place to sequester and reflect.” He pauses, hand raised to knock. “Or maybe you wouldn’t.”

His knuckles come down, three neat raps.

"Don't do that," Eddie says sharply. "You'll startle him." They raise their voice. "Jon!"

“I’m familiar with my own guest,” Oswald mutters.

“They’re upset, cut them a break,” Jay says behind them.

Eddie is yet again so grateful that Jay is here. And he's not taking up space, he's just being here and helping. Weirdly, that makes them feel guilty, too. They shrug it off, step in front of Oswald, and open the door.

“Jesus,” says Jay. “Hey, Jon, it’s us.”

" _Jon_ ," Eddie says. Jon’s alive, and he's himself. He is in bed, sitting up against a pile of clean, fat pillows with the blankets pulled up around his chest. His free hand is holding a book open. Eddie is still teary from earlier, and they find themself crying again. Jon's alive, but--god. He's a mess. Eddie sees the arm second, the face first, and they can’t even guess at anything else. God. If Eddie didn’t know it was him, they’d have to look twice. 

“Don’t look like that,” says Jon. His voice breaks words into wrong angles, and there, that’s something else that’s messed up. 

“You’re kind of shocking,” Jay says. He sounds rude, but also maybe a little dazed.

Eddie goes to Jon's bedside, but they realize they can't hug him without hurting him. Instead of feeling something about that, or about anything else, they say, "You didn't answer your _phone_."

Jon looks at them, then Jay, then Oswald, then his hands, and says, “Didn’t have a charger.”

“I offered you a charger,” says Oswald from the doorway. 

“Nothing to talk about,” Jon says, hunching in.

"I thought you were dead!" Eddie snaps, panic, anger, and relief fighting with each other. They just want to be calm, but they can't find their way to it right now.

Jon, still looking nowhere, says, “I’m sorry, Eddie, I couldn’t come to the phone.”

"Do any of you want a drink?" Oswald asks diplomatically.

Eddie feels like they could use several. "No," they say. "I can't believe you're alive, Jon. I saw your condo. I saw it."

Jon says, “I didn’t say you could go in. I locked the door. That’s really rude.”

"I have a key," Eddie says. "You weren't answering your phone. Jonathan, what _happened?_ "

“I didn’t say you could do that,” says Jon, “the door.”

It’s so classically Jon, and it upsets Eddie _so much_ , but as they open their mouth to answer back, Jay steps up between the two of them. “Hey,” he says quietly, “Hey, Ed, hey, it’s okay. All right? Let’s just--one thing at a time.”

Eddie is ready to yell at him as well, except then they realize they can hear Jon’s breathing, fast and shallow and trying hard to be quiet. Jay’s hand tightens on Eddie’s. “Okay?” he says again.

"Oh," Eddie says. "Okay." They want to stop yelling, right now. They want not to have broken into Jon's house, only then they never would have come here. "Um, Oswald, I think I'd actually like a drink," they say.

"I'll be back," Oswald says. "With three drinks. If they irritate you, I'll have them removed," he tells Jon. Then he goes.

"Hi Jon," Eddie says quietly. "I'm sorry I used my key. But I'm glad I found you.'

“I don’t want that,” says Jon. “You don’t need to see it. It’s unpleasant, Eddie.”

This is so awful. Jon is doing what he does when things are spiraling downhill but he’s still fighting against it. That horrible in between thing, where he’s trying to sound collected, like himself, but none of the pieces fit together.

Eddie takes a cautious seat on the edge of the bed. "But it's okay," they say. "I mean, kind of okay." They find themself wishing that this was anything but Harvey. But they're not stupid. They remember things Harvey's done to them.

“Indecent,” Jon says.

Jay crosses his arms and says, “Nothing I haven’t seen before, right?” and Eddie thinks it takes both themself and Jon a couple of seconds to realize what he means. 

“It’s embarrassing,” Jay says. “To get caught like that. But you didn’t do anything to be ashamed of.”

Eddie watches Jon’s gaze float gradually up to Jay’s face. Jay smiles. 

"Jay knows," Eddie says, realizing it's true. That doesn't make them feel better. It makes them feel kind of sick.

“Was it him?” Jay asks. “Harvey?”

Jon exhales. His breathing is quieter. “I made him angry,” he says.

"You didn't _make_ him _anything_ ," Eddie says, trying to iron the shakiness out of their voice. "He decides how he feels and then he waits for his coin to validate it."

“He listened to it this time,” Jon says. “When he didn’t want to.”

"What happened?" Eddie feels cold.

“You don’t want the whole story,” Jon says. The stitches on his purple cheek make him wince, almost imperceptibly. They make Eddie’s stomach turn.

“Yeah we do,” says Jay. “But it’s okay.”

Jon settles into his pillows. “I was out. Shopping. He got in my car.”

Eddie's glad to already be sitting. "Fuck," they say. The groceries. "Sorry, Jon. Is he--where is he now?" It feels safer to skip all the parts in the middle.

Jon’s expression clouds. “I don’t know,” he says. “I couldn’t tell you that.”

“Penguin’s barring the door?” Jay asks.

Jon says, “He promised.” He blinks. “But he let you in, so I don’t know.”

Jay laughs. “Where’s your phone?” he asks. “I’m gonna get that charger from the Penguin.”

Jon gestures with his good hand, which, even if it’s not broken, shows a faint shadow of bruising. _Christ._

"I wish you'd called," Eddie says. "I know why you didn't--kind of--but I really wish I'd been able to come find you." They smile over their shoulder at Jay, a little anxious, but mostly so grateful for his casual, aggressively supportive presence.

Jon plays with the edges of his book. “I can’t stay and wait to get picked up, Eddie,” he says. “He can come back. He can flip again. He didn’t like the last one.”

"The coin told him to leave?" Eddie says. "To stop?"

“He does what it says,” Jon says. 

"I know," Eddie says. "What was the other option?"

In the edge of Eddie’s vision, Jay looks up, holding Jon’s phone.

“Please stop,” Jon says. “Eddie, please stop.” His fingers clench around the top corner of the book, crushing it inward like a soda can.

"God," Eddie says. They scrub at their face hard. They have a moment where they can't believe this, then a moment where they remember Harvey's face when he choked them, or kicked them, or didn't give them a chance to say no to things. "Sorry," they say. "Just forget it."

“Please go away,” says Jon.

"No," Eddie says. "I mean, maybe into the hall for a little while, if you want, but I'm your friend and I'm not going away when you need me. Which you do."

Jon gives them a worried look and says, “I made him flip it again. So you see, I’m not that stupid.”

Eddie takes a sharp little breath. "You're really not," they say. "Oh, Jon. You're so good." They clear their throat. "But I'm still not leaving."

Jon sniffs. “I can’t stop you.” It sounds unpleasant, but Eddie can tell that it actually indicates relief. Jon is terrible with people, but that doesn’t really mean he likes being without them.

Eddie kicks their shoes off and pulls their feet up on the bed. "You must be so bored," they say, trying to push away the anxiety and fear about Harvey.

Jon shuts his eyes and seems to count to three, then heaves himself to one side to make room, with an ugly noise that he quickly tamps down on. 

“Be right back,” Jay says, vanishing through the door. 

Jon doesn’t say anything about the proffered space, just replies, “It’s a bad book. And I was asleep before.”

Eddie carefully makes their way to the head of the bed. They feel a twinge of guilt--can they sit with Jon in bed like this; is that going to make Jason feel bad? But Jon needs them right now. They gingerly lean next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "That's better," they say. Sometimes Jon likes it better if they can pretend Eddie is the one who needs him.

From this side, Eddie can see the bruises and the puffiness, but they can’t see the stitches, and they’re a little relieved by that. Jon flaps his book shut--the crushing has done permanent damage, Eddie sees--and shoves it out of his way. 

“I didn’t go back,” Jon says, like Eddie might not understand that part. “I’m not stupid.”

"I know," Eddie says. "I didn't think you went back, even for a second. I'm sorry, this is so fucked up." What are they going to _do?_

“I’m sure you did,” Jon says. His fingers clutch each other. “I’m sure you thought that. That’s why you didn’t come before now, isn’t it?”

"Your phone was off," Eddie says, keeping their tone quiet and patient, even though they want to scream. "I looked everywhere. Your office, Arkham. The dim sum place."

Jon is quiet for a minute. Then he says, “Was anyone waiting?”

"What?" Eddie says. "Oh, at your office? Um, no. But you might want to turn on your phone and call some people, right?" Jon is usually so conscientious about his patients. That's as alarming as anything else.

Jon echoes, “Call some people.”

"I can," Eddie says quickly. "I'll be your secretary."

“I don’t need your help, Edward,” Jon snaps, out of nowhere.

"I--sorry!" Eddie says, startled and hurt. That's not their name.

Jon’s expression drops. “Eddie,” he says. A correction, Eddie is pretty sure, not an address. “I didn’t mean that,” Jon says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said that. I’m sorry, Eddie.”

"Hey," Eddie says. "Jon, hey." They very gingerly put their hand on his shoulder, which seems to be undamaged. "I'm just so glad we found you. I was so worried, you have no idea. We both were."

“I can tell,” Jon acknowledges finally. “I’m sorry I didn’t--I thought he would find you if I told you.”

"It's okay," Eddie says. "I don't know what we're going to do, but we're going to be fine. All three of us." Something in the pit of their stomach twists and sparks and they turn away from it and focus on the relief of Jon being himself for a second.

Jon looks at them, and down again, and says quietly, “If I call my patients they’ll want appointments.”

"Can you do phone appointments?" Eddie asks. "You know, if you're feeling up for it." They really hope Harvey tries to come here and Oswald shoots his knees off.

“They probably want a doctor who’s not a grotesque failure, don’t you think?” Jon says harshly. “They probably, I’ll refer them. I’ll just.”

"No," Eddie says. "You'll say you're sick, and next week when you feel a little better and you can think about how you really are, you'll figure out how to see them. That's the plan." Jon doesn't like being managed, but right now he's not managing himself.

“The plan,” says Jon. His breath does something complicated. He doesn’t look at Eddie. “I don’t know what to think of you, Eddie. You’re being like--” He doesn’t finish, but Eddie knows. Being like they were before Eddie left, or earlier: before Harvey stripped all the friendship out of their relationship. They’d been inseparable for a long time. Difficult, but inseparable. They’d taken care of each other like this, like Eddie is trying to do right now, all the time. And now--when’s even the last time one of them had tried?

"I'm not going anywhere," Eddie says quietly. "Not again." They don't give a shit, they're making that promise and they're not breaking it. "You're my friend," they add, in case that makes things less complicated.

Jon says, “I won’t know if you’re lying.” 

"I know," Eddie says. "But I trusted you after you were pretty awful to me, so I deserve a shot." They smile hopefully at Jon, their chest aching with rage at what Harvey has done to both of them.

Jon says, “I’m very tired.”

"You should rest," Eddie says. "We can go or stay. Either way, we'll be here, at the club."

Jon’s hands clench together again. “I’m just...very tired,” he says again, like Eddie should divine all its secret meanings. It’s so easy to be frustrated at him when he does this.

"Yeah?" Eddie says. They put their hand on Jon's.

“I am stupid,” Jon says, taking hold of their fingers (it feels so familiar). “I’m very, very stupid. And he won’t go away.”

"You're not stupid," Eddie says. "He's just...bad. And smart. And we loved him once, and now he won't let us go. But don't think we're going to put up with that." It doesn't feel like they have a lot of choice there, but there are always choices.

“All right,” Jon says. He turns his head a little, to look properly at Eddie. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I didn’t want you to know. It’s nice you’re here.”

"You are stupid," Eddie says gently, squeezing Jon's hand carefully. "I'm here now. Get some rest."

Jon nods, and shuts his eyes. “You can stay here if you want,” he says softly. “I changed my mind about it.” 

"Thank you," Eddie whispers. They don't let go of Jon's hand.

**JASON**

Jason malingers in the hallway until the Penguin comes back, trying to overhear and also trying not to overhear what’s going on inside Jon’s room. The Penguin returns with a tray of three drinks, and Jay says, “Maybe not right this second?” and then they both have an awkward time where the Penguin is the Penguin and Jason is Jason and there’s no common ground at all. Plus Jason is telling the Penguin what to do in his own club, which is probably usually seen as a mistake.

Anyway. The common ground of Jonathan is clearly not enough. The Penguin sets his tray down on a small table in the hallway and he and Jason grimace at each other without saying much. Penguin obviously doesn’t trust him enough to leave them all alone; Jason obviously isn’t going anywhere. It blows. Jason recovers the situation a little by asking for a charger, and when the Penguin returns with cord in hand, Jason’s got a few pieces of smalltalk lined up. 

By the time they’ve worked through those, the Penguin has obviously decided he doesn’t need to be there, and Jason is just releasing a sigh of relief when Eddie comes out of the room and quietly shuts the door behind them. 

"Hey," they say. They're very pale, as they have been since the condo. "Thanks so much for that," they say, pointing to the charger. "And, you know. Not just that."

“How’s…?” Jason says, and gestures towards the room. “I mean. I can see.” He can see too much, actually, and even though he was trying to be reassuring in the room, the sight of Jonathan beaten like that sent him back fast, years, to a specific time and place and terror that he just can’t let out. He can’t. He tugs gently on Eddie’s shirt and wrestles back the panic that’s trying to claw its way into him. “Did you talk?”

"Yeah," Eddie says, leaning into Jason. "Some. He's more coherent now. He's not trying to get rid of us." They clear their throat. "He's scared."

Jason doesn’t want to remember being scared. He says, “I’m sorry. It sucks.” Waits a beat. “Do you want me to kill Harvey?”

"No," Eddie says quickly. "No, that's not safe for you. And I don't--you're not our hired assassin. You're my boyfriend."

“Yeah,” says Jason. “But I’m mad.”

"Me too," Eddie says. "But murdering people when you're mad doesn't always help." They look at Jason questioningly, and he doesn't know what they're trying to figure out. They look so sad.

“Just saying,” Jason says, but it has a bad taste, suddenly. He clears his throat, and then steps a little further off from the door. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks.

"I don't know," Eddie says. "Physically, yeah. But he can't go to work. He can't really go home. So I don't know."

“He’s, uh,” says Jason, but that’s already coming out wrong, and he doesn’t feel the way about the Scarecrow now as he did when he was a kid. He doesn’t even feel the way he did a couple months ago. He doesn’t want to be mean. “It seems like when things are normal, they’re still kind of hard? For Jon?”

"Oh," Eddie says abruptly. "What? I mean, so?"

“I’m not,” Jason starts to object, but maybe it makes sense that Eddie is defensive. “I just mean, does he have--help?” 

"Help," Eddie says flatly. "You mean help like he gets in Arkham? That kind of help?" They pull away from Jason and hug themself, digging their nails into their arms.

Jason flushes. “That’s not what I said.”

"You mean like a shrink." Eddie's voice is tight. "He _is_ a shrink."

“Yeah, but,” Jason says. He doesn’t understand how he’s in a fight, suddenly. 

"But what?" Eddie snaps. "Fuck, you're stupid!" Then they burst into tears. They bury their face in their hands, crying so hard their whole body shakes. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," they say.

Jason feels obstinate and cold, like maybe he won’t help, and maybe he won’t care. He feels angry and sick, too, and _he’s_ not being an asshole. 

But that feeling only lasts a few seconds, and then he just feels sad, and mad at people who aren’t even here. 

“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry. I just meant to help. Hey, let me--” He puts a hand on Eddie’s arm, in case Eddie wants that.

Eddie leans into his hand immediately. "This sucks," they say thickly. "Why can't things ever be normal?" They cry harder, heels of their hands pressed against their eyes. "He's never going to be okay," they say, the words almost indistinguishable through their sobs.

“You don’t know that,” says Jason, feeling everything slip backwards. A numbness creeps up his body. He doesn’t pull his hand back, but he feels...bad. “People can get better,” he says. 

"He doesn't even have a _shrink_ ," Eddie says. "Gotham is so fucked up. We're so fucked up.”

Jason feels suddenly and intensely like throwing up. His hands feel far away. He says, “So we’ll get him one. After we figure out Harvey.” 

"Yeah," Eddie says shakily, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, I guess." They wipe at their eyes. "This is a fucking nightmare."

“Yeah? Well that’s good news,” Jason says. His voice is bright, like with a joke. What’s happening to him? His heart feels wrong. His face feels hot. Is he passing out? “That’s the Scarecrow’s whole thing, right?”

"You're being--" Eddie starts. Then they stop, just looking at Jason. "Hey, are you okay?"

“Yeah,” says Jason, from wherever he is. Eddie’s voice is far away and all Jason can really hear is the ringing in his ears. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just, you know. Bullshit. I’m just...I’m just pissed off.” 

"Hey," Eddie says. "Let's slow down. I calmed down, I can help out now. Breathe?"

Jason says, “I’m fine,” --and then jerks away and presses his hands and his face against the wall and tries to remember how to get air in and out of his lungs. 

Eddie puts a hand on Jason's back, slowly and firmly. "Breathe, though," they say. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. You're safe, you're okay."

Jason rubs his eyes roughly with his sleeve, fingers digging into the paint of the wall. He feels like he’s… _don’t say dying_. Everything builds and builds and then shorts like a circuit, and then he’s sitting on the ground with his arms around his knees, feeling like he’s belly flopped from the high diving board. His head starts to clear out. 

“What the fuck?” he says to Eddie.

"What the fuck is a panic attack?" Eddie asks gently.

“Fuck,” says Jason. “I guess it--and then you said, about not getting--” No, the panic is still there. He swallows. “It’s not his fault, though.”

"I know," Eddie says. "None of this is either of your fault."

Jason spares them a knowing look. “Not yours, either,” he says. He sits back and shakes his hands out. “Wow, I feel very cool now.”

"We've all had a very cool day," Eddie agrees. "Jay, I'm really glad you're here. I--it's been shitty, but, you know." They sit down next to him.

“Yeah,” Jason says. “I--it’s kind of…”

Eddie takes his hand and squeezes it. "Mm hm?"

“I just don’t want you to think I’m talking down,” Jason says. “About Jon.”

"I know," Eddie says. "I'm sorry. I just get--I know he thinks he can protect himself, but he can't always, and somebody has to. I've never done a very good job of it. But I didn't mean to ignore your stuff." They worry at their thumbnail with their teeth.

“No, yeah, I appreciate it,” Jason says. “I mean, I want to ignore my stuff. I just mean, I’m not. You know. Whatever you think I’m doing. Whatever people normally do, that you’re so worried about.”

"I know," Eddie says. "You both need a shrink. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. I want to take care of you, too. Which is wild, believe me."

Jason rolls his eyes. “Everyone in Gotham knows you’re a softy,” he says. And Eddie still doesn’t get what Jason is trying to say, but it’s so small and new that Jay doesn’t want to push it too much. If he says it too loud, it will probably evaporate. Stuff does that.

"That's not the same as being responsible," Eddie says. "I'm trying to be that for you."

Jason feels that in the pit of his stomach. Not in a bad way. In a kind of painful way. But not in a bad way.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, that’s cool. I think you’re maybe the first.” He smiles. “Well, I’ll be fair. Nightwing.”

"Nightwing and I are two of a kind," Eddie says smoothly. "Hey, Jay. Let's stop talking about awful things that fuck you up. Let's make Oswald feed us snacks. Or something."

“You think he has wings?” Jason says, wrinkling his nose. “Or is that too close to home?”

Eddie laughs. "Oh my _god_. Well, let's ask him, obviously." They get to their feet and offer Jason a hand.

“Nice,” says Jason. “You think Jon wants some?” That’s it, that’s the thing he wants or doesn’t want to talk about.

"I bet he hasn't been eating much," Eddie says. They pause. "That's sweet of you."

“It’s just wings,” Jason says. Not to say wings aren’t anything, but because Eddie still thinks Jay is letting Jon tag along because Eddie has feelings. But Jason gets attached fast. Maybe it would be more noble if he was, but honestly he’s not doing anyone a favor.

"It isn't just wings," Eddie says. "It's the phone charger and taking two buses and talking to Oswald. Thank you."

“It’s really not a problem,” he says. “I mean it.” He smiles. “You think Penguin has artichoke dip? I like that fancy shit.”

"He definitely does." Eddie threads their fingers through Jason's. "Let's go find out."

**DICK**

Dick has gotten used to the idea that Bruce is going to find him anywhere and everywhere, including when he's on patrol for his day job. He's distracted tonight, though, thinking about the Joker, and about Tim.

He's about an hour from the end of his shift, and he's already thinking about not going out as Nightwing. He isn't thinking about running into anyone from the other half of his life. And, also, when it turns up, the other half of his life isn’t dressed for the part.

“Hey,” says somebody, right in his passenger side window--the side he _wasn’t looking out_.

Dick whips around. It takes him a second to place Jason, out of context and in street clothes. Seeing him is like a kick in the gut. He trusts Dick enough to have come back, and with his face uncovered.

"Hey," Dick says. "Um, get in?"

“Really?” Jason says, surprise making him sound like himself.

"Trust me, it looks way worse with you leaning on my door," Dick says.

“Oh,” says Jason. “Sorry.” He gets in, and settles in place like they’re really just friends going for a drive.

"This is weird," Dick says. "Not like get-out-of-my-car weird, but weird. What's up?" He can't stop looking at Jason's face.

“Oh, right,” says Jason. “I just need some...advice?”

"Really?" Dick says. Jason and Tim coming to him for advice used to be the only upside to the whole shitty Bruce situation. He can't believe he did enough right last time Jason came by to make this happen.

“Hey, that’s what I said!” Jason says, then looks at Dick sort of sheepishly. “I just don’t know what to do. And you’re a better person than me.”

"I don't know about _that_ ," Dick says. "But yeah. I'm already ready to give you advice." The words _little brother_ try to get out of his mouth and he stops them. He doesn't want to chase Jason off. Instead, he smiles over at him.

“Okay,” says Jason. “So. What if I really want to kill a guy.”

"Has anything stopped you before?" Dick asks. "Since you came back, I mean?"

“Yeah,” Jason says defensively. “I mean, you don’t know.”

"Not really," Dick says, exhaling. "I'm sorry. What kind of guy do you want to kill?" Anything to keep Jason talking and here.

“Not a kind of guy,” Jason says. “A guy. Specific guy.”

Dick really doesn't want to know the answer, but he has to say it. "Who?"

Jason looks exasperated, but in the way where he always already knows he is about to be in trouble. “Harvey Dent,” he says.

"Oh!" Dick says. That wouldn't have even been on his list. "Wait, why?" There are a lot of great reasons to kill Harvey Dent, but Dick isn't sure what Jason's would be. What, to gain traction in the criminal underworld? He won't say that out loud.

“He deserves it,” says Jason, and that doesn’t sound like him. It sounds adult, and hard.

It's not that Dick disagrees. It's that he doesn't want Jason to have to think or feel that. "Why?" he asks, trying to soften his voice so he doesn't sound like he's interrogating Jason.

Jason doesn’t answer that question. He says, “What if I want to do it, but someone else...doesn’t want that.”

"Someone else?" Dick says, frowning. "Like who? Bruce?" Jason doesn't care what Bruce thinks, though.

“Well, no, _Bruce_ doesn’t want that,” says Jason savagely. “ _Bruce_ can’t mind his business about any fucking thing, unless it’s Harvey or Selina, and then it’s oh no, what’s crime, again? Sure is nothing to do with me!”

Dick laughs, surprised, because he completely agrees. "I know," he says. "He's--ugh, I know. Okay, then who? The Riddler?"

“Kind of,” says Jason, after a pause that Dick doesn’t understand or expect. 

"Jason…" Dick drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "It's really dangerous, the politics between all those people. I'm sure you know that."

“You think I give a shit about politics?” Jason says aggressively. “I don’t give a _shit_ about politics.”

"Okay," Dick says, "to be fair, the other day was the first conversation you've had with me since you got back. I don't know what you give a shit about these days. So why don't you tell me?"

Jason scratches at the back of one hand. “I guess that makes sense,” he says. “I can go. I know this is fucked up.”

"I don't want you to go," Dick says. He knows this is about to sound mushy, and he doesn't care, he needs to tell Jason. "I've been looking for you pretty much every day. You know, just kind of hoping you'd show up at the window again. I'm not trying to judge you."

“Come on, Dick,” says Jason, and Dick understands that Jason is trying to shut him up, and that _stinks_ , because no matter how tough and streetwise he was, kid Jason never ran away from feeling anything. 

Dick sighs. "You want to talk about wanting to kill someone, but not why. So let's do that."

“Because he’s a piece of shit,” says Jason.

"And somebody disagrees?" Dick asks. Jesus, this is frustrating. But as long as Jason doesn't get out of the car.

“No,” says Jason.

"Jason, what are you asking?" Dick says.

“They don’t want to take advantage,” says Jason loudly. “They don’t want to fuck me up any more than I aready am by ‘making’ me go after him, but I can’t just sit here and let him come for them _again_.”

Dick moves past the part about Jason being fucked up--only not really, because it sticks in his head and echoes--and says, "Who, the Riddler? I thought they were friends."

Jason laughs helplessly. “How am I supposed to tell you?” he says. “Fuck. It’s their business, and I’m gonna tell Nightwing? _Fuck_.”

Dick chews his lip. He hadn't expected the hardest part of this to be navigating Jason's new loyalties to people they're both supposed to hate. "For what it's worth," he says. "I barely fight them anymore. They don't really come over here. So it's not like I'd use it against them."

“It’s not just Eddie,” Jason says.

Of course Jason has other friends. "Okay," Dick says ."So...Eddie and other people don't want you to kill Two-Face, even though he did something to them and you want to protect them?"

Jason gives him a defiant look. “Eddie and Jon,” he says.

Dick doesn't say anything. If he says what he wants to say, Jason will leave and not come back. Finally he says, "Huh. Last we talked, Jon and Two-Face were working together."

“A _manipulative_ piece of shit,” says Jason.

"Okay," Dick says. He doesn't need to know the whole story. "So...what's the problem? They think there's a better way to take care of it?" It's hard to believe that the Scarecrow is anti-killing.

“No, they don’t,” Jason says shortly. “Eddie just doesn’t want me to get hurt. And Jon isn’t--we just found him a few days ago, okay? He can’t talk about it yet. I don’t know what he wants.”

This sounds like a whole lot of new information, and Dick is getting the impression that he isn't allowed to ask questions. "And you want to know...should you do it anyway? No, obviously."

“So what am I supposed to _do_?” Jason says, and Dick realizes he’s on the edge of tears. “Just let their fucking psycho ex murder them because my _feelings_ might get hurt? _Fuck._ ”

"Hey," Dick says. He pulls over. "Jason." He puts his hand on Jason's shoulder. "It's going to be okay." Dick doesn't understand a single thing that's going on, but he picks out one thread. "Your feelings matter too, you know."

“Jesus Christ, Dick, I know about my feelings,” Jason snaps. “No one needs to take this exact moment to focus on my fucking feelings!”

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Dick demands. "That you should go kill Two-Face and it'll solve everything? It doesn't sound like anybody wants that!"

“So what do you want, Dick?” Jason says. “Oh, I know. In your dreams, you snap your fingers and I turn good. I become a cop, just like you--oh, and just as a treat, I still take your side against Bruce?”

"Okay," Dick says, "I miss you, but you can't just be an asshole endlessly without me getting sick of it."

Jason sags in his seat and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Dick, please,” he says. “Please. Harvey’s going to kill him.”

A little jolt of panic goes through Dick. He can feel whatever he wants about the Scarecrow, that's serious and it's real. "What can I do?" he asks. "Bruce is already looking for Harvey 24/7, because of what you told me."

Jason looks up. “The kid’s okay?” he asks.

"So far," Dick says. "Bruce isn't taking him out." He weighs the danger of telling Jason the rest and decides he knows Jason. "He's going out on his own, though. So that's not great." It sounds like Two-Face and the Scarecrow are busy enough with each other, though.

“Shit,” says Jason. “Someone’s got to watch him. If Harvey can’t find Jon, which he better fucking not find Jon, he’ll be looking for other people to hurt.”

Finally a piece that makes sense to Dick. "I can warn him," he says, "but warning him before completely backfired. And he's really fixated on you."

“Well I didn’t ask for that!” Jason says, dismayed.

"I'm just letting you know," Dick says. "I guess you were pretty alarming when he and Bruce ran into you."

“I was pissed off,” says Jason. “I mean, I’m still pissed off. But I need--help.”

"I want to help," Dick says. "I can keep an eye out for Two-Face if you want." That doesn't feel helpful, in the face of everything Jason just said.

“That’s--no, that’s great,” says Jason tiredly. “Hey, I’m not trying to put you in a tight spot. I know they’re not even people you would ever want to help. You can just--I can get out wherever.”

"They're people," Dick says. He feels extremely helpless. "We help people."

“At least don’t lie to me, okay?” Jason says. “Let me out here, it’s fine. I made a mistake coming here. I’ll see you around, Dick, okay?”

"Okay," Dick says, defeated. "Okay, Jason. Don't be a stranger."

Jason climbs out and slams the door, not loudly. He looks small, walking away.

Dick stays parked for a while, arms crossed over the steering wheel, head down. Jason's world isn't Dick's world, if it ever was. But he's going to prove Jason wrong. He's going to at least look for Two-Face.

When Dick gets off his shift, he doesn't go out as Nightwing. Instead, he just goes home and calls Bruce. He's been weighing what to say, and how much, but he has to say something.

“Dick,” says Bruce as soon as he answers the phone. He sounds brisk, but in Bruce’s usual way. Not like he’s having a bad day, or is angry at Dick. Yet.

"Hi," Dick says. "Do you have a minute? I wanted to update you on a couple of things." It feels awful, actually, to be running to Bruce about Jason showing up. It's definitely the opposite of what Jason would want. But Jason isn't the only person at risk here.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Bruce says. “Excuse me for a minute.” Dick realizes that Bruce isn’t talking to him, with the last part, and then that Bruce is somewhere with a lot of chatter in the background. Bruce work. Not Batman work. The timing is awful. Bruce speaks again a minute later. “There. What’s happening?”

"Jason came to see me again," Dick says. He's been trying to decide what to say or not say. His last conversation with Bruce has really changed what he feels like they can talk about, too. Then again, Bruce gets weird about Two-Face.

Bruce says, “I see.” Stiffly. Is he going to let Dick get to the point? 

"He says Two-Face is out there in a really bad mood," Dick says carefully. "Worse than usual." And oh god, he's going to betray Tim, too. "Tim shouldn't be out right now, probably."

“Tim isn’t out,” Bruce says. “Tell me more about Two-Face.”

"Hang on," Dick says, bracing himself. "Tim _is_ out."

Bruce says, “What do you mean, he’s _out_?”

"He's been out here," Dick says. "I think he's been looking for Jason. And that just got a lot more dangerous. Because--"

“ _What_?” says Bruce, in a hiss that would very much be a roar if he weren’t stuffed in a closet or wherever he is. “Did you know this? How long have you known this? Why have you been talking to Tim?”

"He came to my house," Dick says, annoyed. "That isn't the point. Jason says Two-Face is out for blood, and if he doesn't find what he's looking for, it could be Tim's."

“What’s he looking for?” Bruce says. “And why is Tim a reasonable alternative?”

"It's all really complicated, and I don't understand all of it," Dick says. And like Jason said. Some of it sounds private. But Dick has to keep Tim safe, too. "He's at war with Scarecrow and Riddler. And Jason, I think. And if what Jason said before is true, that puts Tim in danger." He pauses. "He knows that Jason doesn't want Tim to get hurt, I think. Do you know that?"

The line is quiet enough that Dick can’t tell if Bruce is there anymore, and he actually checks to see if the call is still counting up. 

“It won’t matter what Jason wants if he’s the one who gets Tim killed,” Bruce says finally. “How the hell is he--he must really be involved. I’d almost thought that was a--a trick. A hallucination.” Which is an absolutely wild thing for Bruce to say out loud.

"Bruce," Dick says, distrubed. "Come on. It's not, and we need to find Two-Face. You can do that, right? I drove Jason around in my car, no mask," he adds.

“Dick,” says Bruce forcefully, as if there’s just one right thing to take from that. There obviously isn’t. Even Dick doesn’t know what to take from that, except that he has to do something to help.

"Do you need to see me?" Dick asks. "I can come to Gotham. I can help." He always tells himself he's not going to offer that, but he's wrong every time, and besides, this is bigger than his problem with Bruce.

Another pause. This one, Dick thinks, is hesitation. 

“I’ll look for Two-Face,” he says. “Find Tim. Even if nothing happens tonight, that needs to stop. If he’s anywhere but home, bring him to the Batcave.”

"Okay," Dick says. He feels completely exhausted. "I can try. Uh, how are you doing?" It's not really the question he wants to ask, and it's never one Bruce responds to tell, but Dick doesn't know how to bring up the subject of the Joker.

Long pause. “I’ll let you know,” Bruce says. “Let’s worry about this for now. Just find Tim, and I’ll talk Harvey down.”

"Talk him down," Dick echoes. "I don't know how viable that is. From the sound of it, he's really off."

“I know Harvey can be difficult, but if he hasn’t done anything I don’t know what you’re asking for,” Bruce says. “Not everyone is the Joker.”

Bruce has always been weird about Two-Face. Yeah, they were friendly before he was Two-Face, but Bruce usually has such rigid rules about everything. "I'm not saying he's as bad as the Joker," Dick says. "But Jason's worried he's going to kill someone. And even if it's someone else dangerous, does that make it okay?"

Bruce chews on that. “Say more,” he orders Dick.

Dick grips the phone, beyond frustrated. Bruce expects this relationship, whatever it is, to only work one way. "He thinks Two-Face is going to kill the Scarecrow," he says. "Isn't in-fighting with them always a problem for us? This could be bad."

“There are worse things,” Bruce says. “But if their bad blood hurts Tim, I might pay a visit to Dr. Crane myself.”

"That's not--Bruce, you're being so _dense_ ," Dick says. "Jason is giving us valuable information, and you're just taking what you want from it. He's trying to protect the Scarecrow. He was so worried."

This time he really thinks Bruce will hang up. 

“I’ll do what I can for Jason,” Bruce says. “You know what I’d do for him. But if things are as heated as you say they are, I don’t have time to talk about his _friendship_ with Jonathan Crane.”

"This is why he hates you, you know," Dick says. He doesn't mean to say it.

There’s a painful stillness for just a moment, and then Bruce says, “Tell me when you find Tim.” He hangs up.

Dick sighs and presses his phone against his face for a minute. This is awful. Fighting with Bruce always feels like digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole, one that doesn't go anywhere or achieve anything. He's just digging for more dirt. Eventually he shakes himself and goes to change into his Nightwing costume. He really hopes Tim is at home in bed.

**TIM**

Tim is at home. Dick doesn’t expect that at all, but he’s home and asleep and Dick feels uneasily like someone in this cushy neighborhood is going to notice Dick and call the cops on him like a child kidnapper.

He lets himself in through Tim's window, and whispers quickly, "Tim, hey, it's me, Dick," so Tim doesn't wake up and freak out. Or more likely, wake up and knock him out. The kid's fast.

Dick speaks, and Tim, who was definitely fully unconscious before, says quietly, “And for once I was getting a good night’s rest. What’s up, Dick?”

"I'm really sorry," Dick says. "I wanted to check on you. Can I give you an update?" Tim looks so young, but he sounds so much like Bruce. It scares Dick more than if he were just some kid. He's some kid with the willpower to get around any kind of rules they lay down.

Tim sits up. “Shoot. But my parents are home and Dana always gets up for a minute around two.” That’s a horrifying thought. How has he not been caught by now?

"I'll be quiet," Dick says unhappily. He's been trying to decide what he can tell Tim, and if he tells Tim that Jason's back, Bruce will never speak to him again. And right now, he needs Bruce to listen to him, at least a little. "I just wanted to check that you're not still going out and looking for Red Hood," he says.

“Has something happened that’s going to change that?” Tim says. There’s a laugh in his voice, but just like Bruce, there’s always steel behind it.

"Not exactly," Dick says, "but the stuff with Two-Face is worse. He's warring with some of the others--Scarecrow. And I'm really worried about you being collateral damage." If Tim won't hear it coming from Bruce, maybe Dick can frame is in the right way so Tim will listen.

Tim frowns. “Why me?” he asks. It’s so weird going from Jason to Tim. They approach things so completely differently from one another.

There's nothing to say--or avoid saying--to stop Tim from being curious. Dick takes a deep breath. "Two-Face and Red Hood are fighting. And it sounds like Two-Face thinks going after you will make an impression on Red Hood. That's really all we know." Except for who Jason is, that kind of _is_ all Dick knows for sure. And it's not even for sure, it's just Jason's worry.

“Why?” Tim asks. “Because Red Hood wants to get to me first? He hasn’t exactly been coming for me or Batman. When we’ve met him he actually just seemed like he wanted to leave.”

Poor Jason. Dick is one thousand percent sympathetic to wanting to leave a situation with Bruce emoting. "We're trying to figure out more," he says. "Can you just promise you'll stay inside for now?"

Tim’s face goes a hundred percent earnest. 

“I’m not out now,” he says. “I understand that it’s dangerous, Dick. I won’t put myself in harm’s way.”

"I really want to believe that," Dick says. "I don't know how to make it more clear. Bruce has told you all the horror stories, right?" The Jason stories. Dick really wishes Bruce would tell Tim that Jason's back.

Tim’s expression grows cool. “I’ve heard things,” he says elliptically. “But I’m not--that’s not going to happen to me, Dick. I’m keeping my head. I’m here in my own bedroom. Aren’t I?”

"Yes," Dick says, trying to be patient, "but what about last night? The night before? I know you've been out, Tim. And you think it can't happen to you, but you can be the smartest kid around and still get hurt." Dick's been badly hurt dozens of times, but he's almost certainly not as smart as Tim, so he doesn't bring that up.

“Yeah, I’ve been out,” says Tim very quietly. “But I can read the room too, Dick. If my instincts are telling me it’s a bad scene and you and Bruce are actually agreeing about something, I know there’s a problem. I get it. I’m not going to walk into anything.”

That's...better. "Okay," Dick says. "Good. Because there's something bad going on out there with Two-Face, and we really need Bruce to resolve it before anyone does anything crazy." Dick plans to keep going out, but he can imply otherwise if it'll keep Tim safe.

“I read you,” Tim says. “And no offense, Dick, but I’m the least crazy of all the Robins.”

Dick strongly disagrees. Tim doesn't know Jason, and Dick is--okay, not perfect, but really aggressively normal. "Okay," he says. "Sure you are. Just prove it, okay?"

Tim exhales. “I hate it,” he says. “I really hate it.”

"And that's okay," Dick says. "You can. It's not forever. And I promise we'll tell you more soon. Or I will." Not a great promise to make, but Dick is still not great at this whole big brother thing.

“Okay,” says Tim. “But you have to. Tell me. Because I’m not staying in here forever. I’m not letting him...” He trails off, but Dick knows what he means; he’s waiting to get fired.

"He won't," Dick says, then immediately kicks himself. Of course Bruce would. And Dick would never see it coming, just like he didn't when it happened to him. "Or--I don't think he wants to keep you off the streets forever," he says. "But this Red Hood thing is throwing him off. He's just trying to solve it."

“Right,” says Tim slowly. “Whatever that’s all about.”

Dick is a shitty liar, so he redirects. "And Two-Face being all riled up."

Tim frowns. “Whatever _that’s_ all about. If you can ever just let me in on a thing or two, Dick, I’d really appreciate it.”

"The thing is, I don't have all the pieces," Dick says. "I wish I did. I can tell you that Two-Face and the Scarecrow are warring, but I don't know why, or how that'll affect us."

“Yeah,” says Tim. “Okay. I appreciate it, though. You should probably take off, Dick, like I said--Dana gets up.”

"Sorry," Dick says "I'll go. Tim--thanks. For staying safe." Last-ditch attempt at gulit, in case the other things didn't work. But he thinks they did. Maybe.

Tim half-smiles, looking sad enough that Dick takes it as a good sign. “Sure. See you around.”

Dick climbs out the window and takes off, trying to bundle away the mix of guilt, relief, and anxiety he's feeling. If he can make sure Tim stays put for now, he will have done his job. A job he didn't do last time. He owes this much to Bruce. He waits until he gets home to text Bruce that Tim was safe at home. Hopefully that's enough.

**EDDIE**

It's been six days since Eddie and Jay found Jon at the Iceberg, and Eddie's barely left the building. They don't like the idea of Jon being left alone, although Oswald's made it very clear that he can manage things. Jay is in and out, doing whatever he does, but Eddie stays. They've been sleeping here, too, which they can only hope ends up being okay.

This evening Eddie is sitting on the foot of Jon's bed, reading to him from magazines, which he appears to hate. He's not in bed all the time now, but right now he's worn himself out.

"Five tips to improve your eyeliner game," Eddie reads.

“You’re a menace,” says Jon. “You’re a ghoul.” 

Eddie beams up at Jon over the magazine. "Yeah," they say. They're honestly so happy. The anxiety over Harvey is real, but Jon is _alive_ and they're friends again. It's a huge relief.

Jon isn’t steady, he never is, and this week his barometric leaps and falls have been torrential. Eddie is constantly both overanalyzing him and trying desperately not to do that, because it drives them both crazy and doesn’t help when the drop comes. But just now, Eddie can hear his smooth, fussy, familiar, mostly-there voice, and at the same time, look over and see him with his glasses off and his hair sticking up. Earlier, Oswald stopped by, and Jon developed posture ( _lying down_ ), fumbled for his glasses, and tried to fix the sticking up part. But he hasn’t tried to do those things around just Eddie.

“You’re not dressing up as much,” Jon says. It’s an inquiry.

"Oh," Eddie says. Of course Jon is analyzing them, too. It's what he does. "I guess not. It's not like I need to impress Oswald." Or they've been too stressed and relieved and anxious to think about it.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” says Jon says. “You’re less--” He looks thoughtful, and a little annoyed. At Eddie? At himself?

"Less what?" Eddie says. They usually find that people want them to be less _something_ , so this is possibly about to be a compliment.

“Flamboyant,” says Jon shortly. 

Eddie doesn't honestly expect Jon to notice how they dress, so it's especially nice when he does. "Oh, yeah," they say. "I think Harvey got me out of the habit. And then I just...I don't know. Drifted. I think my next thing is going to be sort of a tunic and leggings thing. With question marks." They smile at Jon bravely, waiting for him to laugh or scoff.

He doesn’t do either. His lip twitches, and he says, “Our fault.”

Eddie has been trying to decide how angry they still are at Jon. The thing is, they know they were nasty because of Harvey, too, and it would be unfair not to cut Jon the same slack. "Harvey's fault," they say firmly.

Jon shakes his head, briefly.

"Well, and yours," Eddie says, "but let's not hold onto shit where Harvey pitted us against each other, okay?"

“Well, you should have it back, Eddie, Harvey’s gone, you don’t need to be gone,” says Jon, at wrong angles. 

Eddie sometimes thinks Jon just doesn't know how to say nice things, but they also sometimes think he does, but he wants to come at them sideways so nobody knows he's being nice. In this case, it's a little hard to ignore.

"Thanks," they say, stunned. They're still not used to being friendly with Jon again. "I'll think about it. You, too." But even Harvey couldn't stop Jon from being Jon.

“Maybe Jay won’t like it,” Jon says. “ _I_ like it.”

Eddie pauses and puts down the magazine. "Jon," they say. "What does that mean?" But yeah, maybe Jay won't. That's crossed Eddie's mind. It's also not the point that feels more urgent right now.

“No,” says Jon. “Nothing. I mean he should. Nothing, Eddie.”

Jon's not exactly being subtle. Edde realizes their heart is racing, mostly from anxiety. How to fit all the pieces together so they work, at the same time as staying alive? "Jay's never been anything but nice to me," they say. They hope it doesn't sound like, _unlike you._

But Jon’s face falls and he says flatly, “I know. I know that, Eddie.” He puts his good hand on his cast and squeezes, harder and harder until his hand is white. 

"Hey," Eddie says, "hey, hey." They inch up the bed on their knees until they can grab Jon's hand. "Easy. I'm not mad at you. But you don't need to worry about me and Jay. Don't stop saying things because you're afraid I'll be mad."

“You won’t get mad, you never get mad enough, you have no sense of self-preservation,” Jon shoots off. His hand is shaking in Eddie’s, and it makes no sense anyway, because Eddie was the one who knew to leave. 

"It's okay," Eddie says, alarmed. They're not good at taking care of people. Who let them do this? "It's not true, but it's okay. And--you know. We're both safe now. So we got there."

“This is all we got!” Jon shouts in their face, and then pulls back into his pillows and stares at Eddie like they’re something really terrible.

Eddie chews their lip, fidgety and anxious. They don't _like_ Jon like this, even when they're paying attention to why he's doing it. "What's the problem?" they ask.

Jon really looks like he might crack, for a few silent seconds. Then he says, “There’s a lot of trauma, Eddie.”

"Oh," Eddie says. "Well. Yes."

“He tells the truth sometimes,” Jon says, but then before Eddie can pounce on that--and it’s not good, so they’d really like to--there’s a knock at the door and Jay’s voice comes through, saying, “I brought pastries from the good place!”

The wave of gratitude Eddie feels almost takes their breath away. They file that away for later, because this feeling that kicks them in the gut every time Jay shows up lately is definitely a love feeling, but this isn't the time to examine that.

"Come in!" they say. They look at Jon sideways. "Pastries. You can't argue with that being good."

Jon’s fire has banked. “Well, we’ll see what he got,” he says quietly.

“Bear claw, almond croissant, chocolate croissant, bialy and _plain_ croissants for you, because you’re so fucking picky,” Jason says, as he walks through the door. The last is directed to Jon, with a grin. “They had fresh orange juice, too.” Jay waves the whole pretty little paper bag at them both.

"Oh, wow," Eddie says. They can't keep the love off their face. They're probably embarrassing and it's probably too much, but Jay and Jon are both incredible, and Eddie isn't going to let either of them go away or get hurt again. "I want the chocolate croissant," they say, trying to recover.

“I know?” says Jay, raising his eyebrows. There’s a little table in here, and a small supply of plates and cups and forks that they’ve been collectively stealing from the Iceberg kitchen all week. Jay sets things out and pulls back a chair and sits, seemingly done with his part of the whole deal. 

Jon, looking like a spritzed cat, says, “I should have gotten--I’m not appropriate. I should have been told you were coming.” 

"You're okay," Eddie says. "It's just Jay." They're been trying to make Jay and Jon used to each other, but it's only working on one end of things.

Jay says, “Bathrobe is basically formalwear,” and crunches into a bear claw.

“No,” says Jon, but he carefully gets up and wraps the robe around himself and takes a seat opposite Jay. While Eddie finds their seat, Jon peels back the foil on a miniature orange juice.

"You look so much better," Eddie tells Jon. "Seriously. Oswald's scary back-alley doctor is actually good."

“Oswald rarely settles,” says Jon. 

“No kidding,” says Jay. 

"He's our sugar daddy for life now," Eddie says.

“Gotta be better than the last one,” says Jay thoughtfully.

“Excuse me,” says Jon.

“I meant mine, but okay,” says Jay.

"Oh my god," Eddie says, covering their face. "I've been so polite not asking questions about Batman. So polite. But he must be rich, right? Does he walk around in gold brocade bathrobes and the mask?"

“Definitely,” says Jay. “With like, little bat monograms made of diamonds.” He bites down hard, but not in an upset way.

“Batman,” says Jon scornfully. “As if what he really does is any more reasonable than that.”

Well, and Jon dresses up in a burlap sack and throws chemical weapons at people, but this is not a productive argument to make.

"We all _wear_ stuff," Eddie says. "You want me to go back to the tights. I can go back to the tights."

“Oh yeah!” says Jay. “You kind of stopped with that when I was starting, but I remember. Couldn’t ask Batman about it, he’s weird about things. You know, considering.”

"Ha," Eddie says mirthlessly. "Yeah. Harvey was weird about it, too." That still doesn't feel like something Eddie's allowed to talk about, but Jon did, so maybe they can. Maybe Harvey was fucking them up for years, way before they even realized it.

“Considering what?” Jon says, apparently undistracted by personal feelings.

“Oh,” says Jay. “No thing. Nothing.”

"You're not a very good costumed criminal," Eddie says, stealing a piece of Jay's bear claw.

“I’m not a--that’s not even what I’m doing,” Jay says in a wounded voice.

“Yes, you’re very just,” says Jon. “Righteous, even. Unfortunately no one else wears your uniform, so you’re _just_ a plain old killer. Sorry.”

"Well, be nice," Eddie says. "But that's probably what Batman thinks, isn't it?" It occurs to them that they should tell Jay how they yelled at Batman at some point. Just not right now.

“I didn’t bring him up to--it doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Jay says shortly. 

“That was a dig against the authorities, Eddie, not Jay,” says Jon, inspecting his nails. “You know I’m very familiar with the authorities.”

"I know," Eddie says quickly. "Sorry." They need to stop wading into things and making them bad in ways they aren't. "The point is, we should all wear ridiculous shit and you should gossip about Batman."

“I’m not really a gossip,” says Jay, a little easier. “But point taken.”

Jon is pulling a croissant into pieces. He doesn’t respond to Eddie at all, apparently too taken up by meticulously deconstructing buttery layers and crisp edges. 

"You missed my tights, though?" Eddie asks.

Jay grins. “It’s nice,” he says. “Hey, before Robin I was still a queer Gotham kid who paid attention to shit. So it’s not like I didn’t notice.”

Eddie can feel themself blushing. "It's--I should have realized I had more in common with you sooner, probably." It's like after what Jonathan said, they're worrying at things, trying to make sure Jay isn't like Harvey, even though they know. "You got my pronouns right in Arkham, too. Nobody else in your old crew does that."

Jay pauses like he’s deciding something, then says, “Nightwing probably doesn’t know. He wouldn’t get them wrong on purpose. He’s a useless asshole, but not that kind of asshole.”

"It's all right, I don't care," says Eddie, who very much does care.

“I could tell him?” Jay says, looking a little fucked up about it.

"Oh, fuck no," Eddie says. "No. You don't have to talk to any of those people."

“Okay,” says Jay. “But like if it comes up.”

"Sure, if it comes up," Eddie says. They never tell people these things head-on themself. They're not going to solve it for anyone.

“If it comes up,” Jay repeats to himself softly, and licks his fingers.

"Gotham's a big city," Eddie says gently. "You don't have to run into them, and if you do, you don't have to have a conversation."

Jay shoots them a smile. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I mean it. Nightwing doesn’t really hurt.”

Eddie wants it to be clear that they _want_ Jay to be friends with people who make him happy--even if that means being friends with people who've historically been Eddie and Jon's enemies. But they also don't want to sound like they're in a position to lay down the rules.

"You should call him sometimes if you want," they say.

Jay turns a little pink, and rolls the paper sheet his pastry had sat on into a ball between his palms. “Yeah, it’s good you think that,” he says. “I do. Already.” 

" _Good_ , great," Eddie says, smiling at him. They nudge Jon's foot with theirs, inviting him back into the conversation.

Jon pulls away, not violently, and a moment later gets up and goes to the sink. His croissant is obliterated, but uneaten. 

“Thanks,” Jay says. “You’re nice. Hey, Jon, isn’t--” Jay looks at the plate, frowns, and looks at Eddie, one question silently replacing another.

"Jon?" Eddie asks. "You okay?"

Jon says something that Eddie doesn’t catch over the sound of the water. 

Eddie gets up. "What?"

Jon doesn’t answer. He reaches for more soap, but he only has one good hand and the sink is wet. When he presses down on the pump, the whole bottle skids sideways and flies off the sink. It hits the floor with a smack that makes Eddie flinch. It sounds like the catalyst to an explosion--except there’s not one. Not yet. The bottle hits the ground, and Jon makes a little sound and stands there, completely motionless. Water and soap run down his upraised hands and into his cast and the sleeve of his robe. The tap is roaring.

"Wait," Eddie says. "Wait, wait, I've got it." They scoop up the soap bottle, but that's not the problem, and they're suddenly very upset, too. Jon should be able to wash his hands by himself. "Jon," Eddie says. "Let me--do something." They're so agitated that their ears are ringing.

“Ridiculous,” says Jon. He meets Eddie’s eyes, which would feel like something if everything wasn’t suddenly imploding for the fourth time today. “Ridiculous shit. Nothing belongs to me,” he adds, just as Eddie is recognizing their own words.

"Sorry," Eddie says, taking a step back. "Let me--just, I won't.." Their distress crystallizes into rage, making it hard to breathe. Harvey did this. Harvey did this to Jon.

“Not you, Eddie,” Jon says. Behind him, Jay gets slowly to his feet. “Not you, I’m not angry at _you._ ” He looks at his own hands and plunges them too deep into the water before jerking them out again with a hurt sound.

“Too hot,” Jay says, and scrambles over to turn the taps off. He’s breathing hard, and Jon is, and they’re staring at each other in the fresh silence. 

“He’s a piece of shit,” Jay says carefully, not losing Jon’s gaze.

“Don’t talk down--”

“I’m not,” Jay says. “He’s a piece of shit, and you’re going to take it all back. Fuck that fucking piece of shit.”

Jon’s breath slows. Eddie can swallow again.

“Fuck him,” says Jay. He turns the taps back on, a little at a time, swiping his fingers under the flow until he nods, and says, “It’s good.”

Jon says, “He is a piece of shit. You’re right,” and puts his hands in the water. 

Eddie grips the back of their chair. They're still breathing shakily, and they can't let go of the fury. The relief of Jay stepping in and being perfect isn't enough to make Eddie feel less sick with anger. They try to box it up for later, which they're usually so good at, but they can't quite remember how. Everything outside feels calm again, but inside, all Eddie can think about is wanting to scream in Harvey's face.

Jay hands Jon a towel, and Jon takes it with thanks. “I’m sorry about the croissant,” he says. “It’s a waste.”

“I’ll eat it if you won’t,” Jay says. “I’m not picky. Was it something specific?”

Jon pauses, and then keeps drying. He’s speaking before Eddie can decide if they want to hear him speak. “Yes. Specific. An incident. I don’t know what I did.”

Jay sits down in Jon’s seat, arms cross casually over the back. “Yeah?”

Eddie wants to be happy that they're talking, and that it's going well, but everything Jon says or does just makes them angrier. They want to leave before he realizes and thinks it's about him, but they can't think how to do it without making things worse. As it is they're just frozen, listening.

“He took my mask. I don’t like that,” Jon says. “If I need it, I need it.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” says Jay. 

“He’s very strong,” says Jon. He puts the towel up and starts feeling around the edges of the cast. “He doesn’t even have to hit someone. He can just crush you down so you can’t move and say what he wants until it’s true.” 

Eddie remembers. Oh, they remember. They remember years of that, only at first it was once in a while, and then it was more and more until it was every day. They make themself let go of the chair very slowly. They don't trust themself to say anything, so they just nod when they see Jon glance at them.

“Lots of charisma on that douchebag,” Jay says.

Jon says, “Classic trait. Along with being very dangerous and connected and having guns.” 

“Well, the charm never worked on me,” says Jay. “So just--you know. If you need a clear head and a straight shot. I’m yours.”

It's too much. It's what Eddie wanted, Jon and Jay being on the same page, but they're too sick with anger to appreciate it. They take a deep breath, calculating every sound their voice is supposed to make. Very calmly and normally they say, "I'll be back in a sec, okay?" They make themself smile at Jay and Jon. Then they walk, slowly and evenly, out of the room.

_EDDIE_

As soon as Eddie gets out of the room, they break into a run. They're out of the building and three blocks away before they stop for breath. They have to do something with all this anger; they can't just hold it. They look both ways and duck into an alley, which is empty except for a dumpster.

"Fuck!" they shout. They pull their phone out, squeezing it hard. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." They're too angry to be afraid for a few blinding seconds, just long enough to call Harvey. When it begins to ring, they remember the fear.

By then, they can’t hang up. And then, Harvey picks up. 

“If it isn’t the Riddler,” says Harvey. He sounds calm. He sounds--like someone he likes has just rung him up after being out of the country for a few months.

"Hi--" Eddie stops and shakes their head. Not _hi_. "Hey, you're a fuckhead."

Harvey laughs. “All right,” he says. “Say more. Are you still angry that I talked to Red Hood?”

"Are you kidding me?" Eddie asks. They shouldn't be surprised, but they always are. Of course Harvey can pretend this is nothing. Why else would Eddie and Jon have stayed for so long? But Eddie walked away once and is never going back. "You hurt Jon," they say.

All Eddie hears for a few seconds is something being moved in the background, like a hard, heavy object being dragged back and forth across a desk. 

“Did I?” Harvey says. “Is he telling tales?” Only a drop of condescension.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he didn't break his own bones," Eddie snaps. Harvey isn't sorry this time. He's sometimes sorry. Maybe he realizes that this is something he can't walk back.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Harvey says reasonably. “But he’s--communicative?” Alive. He fucking means _alive_.

"Were you worried?" Eddie says icily. "Gosh, Harvey, were you afraid he wouldn't be?" Harvey is never _afraid_ of anything. Eddie is so angry they're shaking. They feel like if Harvey was here right now they could kill him with their bare hands.

“We had a tiff,” Harvey says. “I didn’t know what he might have done once I excused myself. You know he’s always been impulsive.”

"Who are you lying for?" Eddie snaps. "I know what happened! You know what happened!" But Harvey has always done this, even when it was just the two of them in a room. _What did you do to yourself, Eddie?_

“What did he tell you?” Harvey asks. “Eddie, you know how he gets. I promised I wouldn’t touch him, and he came after me anyway. Wild. I don’t think being alone has been good for him, do you?”

Horrifyingly, there's a tiny, tiny spark of doubt in Eddie's mind. Harvey sounds so reasonable, and Jon _has_ been off. But it's only there for a millisecond. Eddie knows Harvey. More than that, they know Jon. "Well," Eddie says, voice still shaking, "He's not alone now. He's with us, and he's safe. From you."

“Us,” says Harvey with a laugh. “You mean you’re still dogging around after Red Hood? You are so fucking stupid, Eddie. He’s going to hand you over to get beaten and jailed the second Batman offers to suck him off.”

"Fuck you!" Eddie says, face burning. "You can throw whatever you want at me, I know the truth. You were never a good person, not even half."

“Is that so, Eddie?” Harvey says. “But Red Hood is good? Jon is good? Let me tell you what Jon says about you when you’re not in the room, Eddie. Let me tell you what he’d beg me to do to you.”

Eddie can't say anything. They want to know. They don't want to know. They know they said a lot of things about Jon when they were scared and Harvey was convincing.

Harvey says, “No, I’m sorry--that’s not fair to you. It won’t help. But Eddie, you need to look out for yourself. I love Jon, you know I do--more than anything. Especially after I lost you. But you know how he is. He isn’t right, and he needs a lot of work, and sometimes…” He trails off, like they’re already sharing what would have come next.

The fact that Harvey isn't angry is making Eddie even angrier. They cry when they get mad, which they hate, and they know Harvey can hear it in their voice. "Don't you dare use the word love. Come near us again and we'll kill you," they say. "That is not a metaphor. That's what's going to happen."

Harvey’s voice comes back cold and precise and growling. “Is that right?” he says. “Is that right, you little whore? You and your two little psychopaths are going to live happily ever after, and I’m just gonna go away? I knew I shouldn’t have left him breathing. I should have left pieces of him for you to find all over town.”

Eddie's hand is numb around the phone. "I knew you couldn't keep it up," they say. "You can't even pretend for a whole conversation. Goodbye, Harvey. You're never going to touch either of us ever again." They can't hang up quite yet, because what if he says something else that would have been a warning?

“I don’t need to touch you to hurt you,” says Harvey. “But, Eddie: I will.”

The call cuts.

Eddie drops to a crouching position, still gripping the phone, and has a panic attack for the next five minutes. When they're able to breathe normally again, they get up and go back to the club. If they made things worse, it doesn't really matter. They were going to be worse eventually. At least Harvey knows that he can't break Jon and Eddie apart, ever again.


	10. Matters of Consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence

**HARVEY**

Harvey had worked himself into a good mood. He had. It had happened quickly, too, on the cab ride back into the city from Jon’s pretty little condo. Harvey and the driver had a nice chat, Harvey tipped well, hid the blood on his hands, and as he slammed the cab door shut there was a lightness in his lungs he hadn’t felt in years. 

He hadn’t planned to do what he did to Jon--not at first--but when it was done, he felt...free. So free that all his plans for revenge felt foolish and far away and frankly unnecessary. For days, he stretched his legs, without anyone crying and whining and snapping and begging for his attention.

Until Eddie fucked things up.

Eddie, that stupid, filthy bitch, dragged themself back into Harvey’s line of sight, and kicked up the rage in his blood, and made themself, and Red Hood, and whatever is left of Jonathan into the only things Harvey can see. It’s not Harvey’s fault he’s angry. He tried to let things lie. But Eddie never can, can they? 

The anger has been pouring through Harvey’s veins for days, but he’s contained it. He’s played it cool. He’s done his homework and kept his mouth shut and now he’s biting back laughter because things come together if you put in the work, and little Robin number three is fifty feet away from him, alone at night in a dangerous part of the city with no idea that Harvey is there.

“Looking for a place to rent?” Harvey asks in a rasping drawl. The coin flips. 

Robin whips around, already in fighting stance. Batman trained this one well. His staff is held crossways in front of him. If he was going to be radio for Batman, he probably would have done it immediately. He doesn't answer Harvey or say anything else. _Definitely_ smarter than the other two.

“Haven’t seen you out much lately,” Harvey says. “Not with your boss, anyway.” The coin catches light, up and down, up and down, but he doesn’t need to land it to know what he’s doing.

He can't see Robin's eyes, but he thinks the kid is watching the coin. "I heard you were looking for me," Robin says. He's got a taut, hard little voice, like Batman, but younger.

“I have been, a little,” says Harvey. “Does that worry you?” He’d be stupid not to worry, and even more stupid to think Harvey doesn’t know it.

"It confused me," Robin says. "It didn't make sense. I wanted to know why." He doesn't relax a single muscle.

“Robins are a tempting target,” Harvey says. “Not usually for me, but times change.”

"Why?" Robin asks. "If we're going to fight, tell me that first." He sounds confident rather than scared. Or just like he's picking apart a puzzle. Like Eddie.

“I’m not interested in a fight,” Harvey says, which is true. “But it’s not a nice reason. You’re halfway there, just by coming here.” He smiles.

Robin turns and looks at the building, taking his eyes off Harvey for a second. For all his readiness, he's still just a dumb kid. He looks back at Harvey. "Explain."

“No,” says Harvey. “Your turn. What do you think this place is?”

Robin hesitates. Then he says, "Red Hood's apartment."

Harvey smiles more widely, “Strangely domestic for someone like him, don’t you think?” he says. “But yes. That’s the key. That’s why you’re here, and that’s why I’m hunting you.”

"That doesn't make sense," Robin says, frowning. "Unless there's something I'm missing. Which--There is, I guess. Do you know who he is?" Now he's talking a _lot_ more. Stupid kid.

“I do,” says Harvey.

Robin actually takes a couple of steps toward Harvey. "Who?" He sounds hungry.

“Like you’ll believe me if I just throw you a name?” Harvey says. “No, you’re like Batman. You need evidence.” He looks glancingly but meaningfully up at the building.

"I can be patient," Robin says. "You can do whatever you were here to do tonight. I'll come back tomorrow."

“You are what I’m doing here,” says Harvey. “I’m going in with you. And if you don’t go with me, I’ll destroy every scrap and hint inside and burn the building down as well.” He considers. “Maybe with people inside. Who can say.”

Robin swallows. "How can I know you won't just kill me if I go with you?" Oh, he's already made up his mind. Harvey can tell. He's completely forgotten to keep his staff raised.

“Because you dead does nothing,” says Harvey. “What I want is for you to fully understand how much your mentor is fucking you over. That’s the payoff, for me.”

"Okay," Robin says after a second. "I'd like to understand that." He glances at the apartment building again. "You first, though."

Harvey pockets the coin and says soberly, “Of course.” He walks past Robin, at a respectful distance, and breaks the door open. It doesn’t take much. This shithole isn’t any nicer than the one Eddie seems to have abandoned. 

“This way, kid,” he says, beckoning with his good hand, and heads upstairs. Four flights is a long time for an awkward silence, so he listens for Robin’s steps and shortness of breath and nervous words.

But Robin doesn't talk, and he doesn't run out of breath. It's irritating, and only tolerable because Harvey knows who's in control here. It's not until they reach the right landing and Harvey stops that Robin says, "Do you think he's home? No lights on."

“You know, I don’t think he is,” says Harvey.

"Good," Robin says shortly. "Let's go." He waits patiently on the landing, as if staying behind Harvey will save him. Harvey does think this Robin is worth keeping an eye on, but he can’t imagine being less afraid of him than he already is.

Harvey pretends to try to break the door down, then turns to Robin and says, “You do a lot of breaking and entering for a guardian angel, don’t you?”

"I don't think that's what I am," Robin says. "Do you need a hand?" The corner of his mouth quirks up.

Harvey allows himself to look amused. “Be my guest. Or Red Hood’s.”

Robin hooks his staff onto his back and bends close to the doorknob. Instead of kicking the door in, he takes something off his belt, fiddles with the knob, and eventually removes it. Then he reaches inside and unlocks the door.

"Easy," he says.

“Huh!” says Harvey, with a kind of gruff admiration. He thinks he lands that pretty well. They’re going to have to move things along, though; Harvey can be the best actor in the world, but never for very long.

Robin slips inside. "So what do you have to show me?" he asks. "Better hurry, or I'll figure it out myself."

“That’s all right,” Harvey says. “As long as you find out the truth. Who do _you_ think he is? You have to have theories.”

"I do," Robin says. "I know who Batman thinks he is. And I have no reason to think he's wrong, except that it's impossible."

Harvey smiles, and shuts the door like it’s an unconscious action. He steps into the room and looks around--not directly at Robin, no, but at the windows he could try to climb out or the barriers he could try to throw in Harvey’s path. Lots of options, for a small space. But Robin’s small, too, and Harvey has done this many times.

“Tell me what you think,” he says, “and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Robin looks off-balance in the space. He's not familiar with it, and he's not really focused on learning. "The other Robin," he says quietly. "The second one. The dead one."

“The dead one,” Harvey echoes, a low rumble.

"Yeah," Robin says. "Only not anymore. So I don't know. But nothing else makes sense. The way Batman responds to him...It's just all I can think of."

“Very smart,” says Harvey. “You can tell Batman that Harvey says you’re right.” Then he snatches the staff off Robin’s back and slams it across his face.

Robin cries out and stumbles backward, tripping over a chair. His recovery time is fast, though, and he gets his balance again, dropping into a fighting stance. He's blinking hard, though.

“Oh, I don’t like that,” says Harvey. He keeps moving forward, angling himself so that Robin is pushed backwards towards the tiny bathroom. No room to maneuver in there, and the window is smaller than Robin, and looks painted shut.

Robin feints a punch on Harvey's left, then ducks under the staff and goes for Harvey's stomach. Harvey grabs him, with both hands, and throws him into the bathroom. Robin hits the wall, with its cracked, dirty tiles, and has to back into the shower stall to get out of Harvey’s way. 

Now Robin is breathing in short, panicky little breaths. He can't get a good angle to kick Harvey; Harvey can see him trying. "Don't you--Don't you have to flip your coin?" he asks, fists balled in front of himself.

“Oh, sweetheart,” says Harvey. “I already did. It just wasn’t about you.”

Robin must see the truth in Harvey's eyes, because he tucks his chin and tries to make a break past Harvey, a truly desperate move.

Harvey grabs him out of the air and slams him against the wall, pins him there with his entire weight. 

Robin's breathing is fast and uneven, and he fights back like a trapped animal. Harvey has to work to hold him there, but not hard. "What is all this for?" Robin asks, and his voice comes out satisfyingly terrified.

“Economy,” says Harvey. “There are a number of people I need to set right. And I only need one murder victim to do it.”

"You--should probably explain that comment," Harvey can hear Robin forcing his voice to be calm and flat again. It's working okay.

Harvey laughs. “No,” he says. He’s going to beat this kid to death just like the last Robin, and just like Jonathan. Just like Eddie, if Harvey had ever had the guts to do it when they were in arms’ reach.

"I know you're going up against the Scarecrow and Red Hood," Robin says. "But they don't care about me. They hate me."

“Come on,” says Harvey. “Little detective.”

Robin goes still and quiet. He either solves it or gives up, because he bucks against Harvey again, fighting a battle he clearly knows he's going to lose. Harvey lets him, for half a minute or so, gaining a fresh rage and basking in it. 

Then, “Enough,” he says, drawing his gun, and he hits Robin across the back of the head.

Robin, slumped, is heavier than he looks. Batman does train them strong. But he’s still small, and it’s easy for Harvey to get him tied (of course Red Hood has rope and handcuffs) and into the trunk of his car. He drives about ten minutes, to another unobserved neighborhood, and puts on the handbrake, and picks up his phone. 

Oh--he’s ready for this.

**JON**

Jonathan is sick of his phone. 

Today he started to do what Eddie suggested--plugged it in and called people, reassured them that their doctor hasn’t ghosted them, promised to set up phone appointments and call in prescriptions as soon as he can, and here is a colleague’s number for emergencies in the meantime. That’s only for a handful of patients, though, because the process is exhausting and he doesn’t have his datebook or his prescription pads and he’s very, very tired. 

The Scarecrow doesn’t have a phone, he thinks. It might be nice to be the Scarecrow.

Jonathan is so tired, and Eddie and Jason are so very much off doing their own things when the phone rings, that Jon doesn’t remember to look at the number. He just thinks it’s one of them, or a patient calling him back, and so he picks it up and says with all his available suavity, “Dr. Jonathan Crane speaking,” thinking _this is the last call and then I’m not talking to anyone else._

"Hey, Jon," says Harvey, gravelly and pleased.

Everything falls. Even Jon’s hand, on the phone, dips for a moment. His muscles stop working, that’s why. He doesn’t work. 

He catches in a breath and spits back, “No one is buying, no one is buying your shit, HARVEY.”

Harvey chuckles. "I really thought you might have blocked my number," he says. "I should have known you wouldn't."

Jon meant to. Or, he didn’t think of it. Or, someone thought it was a good idea. Or someone thought it wasn’t. Jonathan feels terror, and he wants not to feel that. Please stop. 

“No one wants you,” he says. “Go away.”

"Relax," Harvey says. "This isn't about you. Are Eddie and Red Hood with you?"

“I said _no one_ ,” Jon snarls into the phone. Of course they’re not here. Not in this room. Of course not. Even if Harvey isn’t here he has to know Jonathan is alone. Jon is sure. It’s on purpose.

"I really wanted to talk to Eddie, but he _did_ block me," Harvey says. There's something so horribly callous about the casual way he uses the wrong word for Eddie.

“Fuck off, Harvey,” says Jonathan. He must have gotten up, because he’s standing. Not going anywhere, just standing, hunched and nauseous. “I’m not telling you anything, ever again.”

"I don't need you to," Harvey says. "I need you to tell your friends. Tell them I have Robin, and I'm going to throw him off Pioneer's Bridge."

Jon freezes. Don’t think. No thoughts. “What?” he says.

"Jonathan, pay attention," Harvey sighs. "Pioneer's Bridge. Need to write it down?"

“Yes. _No._ I don’t--” Jonathan squeezes his eyes shut. His head still hurts too much for this. It’s a headache. He has such a headache. 

"What do you want?" Harvey asks, his voice softening. "A promise that I'll leave you alone? I can do that. You must be fucking shaking, wherever you are, thinking about what I'll do when I find you."

“I’m not here,” Jon says. It’s stupid, it’s what he said to Oswald before, Harvey will hear it and he’ll laugh, which Jon hates, and he’ll _find_ him. Jon’s vision is blacking out, but Harvey is still on the line, and if Jonathan hangs up, he’ll be here even faster. _I’m not here._ Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Harvey does laugh. Then he says, "Tell them, Jon. You are going to tell them, aren't you? And then I'll leave you alone for good."

Jon can still think, he’s _not_ stupid, he can still make a deal. “Me and Eddie,” he says. “Both. Leave us both alone.”

"Deal," Harvey says. "To be honest, I'm not that interested in either of you anymore. But you tell Red Hood to get to the bridge in twenty-two minutes, or the kid will be dead."

“What if I call him and they’re together?” Jon asks. Stupid. Don’t ask that. It just comes out.

"That's not really my problem," Harvey says. "If Eddie chooses to show up on that bridge, well. That's just going to be something that happens."

Too much. Too much.

“Twenty-two,” Jonathan says. “Pioneer's.”

"At least you can still mimic," Harvey says. "Goodbye, Jon." He hangs up.

Jonathan has to remember to put his phone down. “Twenty-two,” he says to himself again, and then flinches. It doesn’t matter. That doesn’t matter. They were just taking a break, Jon just needed a little time, so maybe Eddie and Jay are still in the Iceberg. Jonathan leaves his room (wonders halfway down the hall if he remembered to shut his door) and emerges from the back. It’s dark through the windows. There are people here, a lot of people. All dressed up. Some of them see him, and he can’t think about that. Somewhere might be Eddie and Jay. 

Then he sees them, over by the bar. Eddie is perched on one of the stools, leaned forward, laughing. Jay is next to them, smiling too. They don't turn and see Jon at first. Then Eddie looks past Jay and makes eye contact with Jon across the room. They grin at him and wave him over.

Jon raises his good hand to wave back, and hurries across the room. The plan is in his mind, nothing but the plan. As soon as he reaches them, he cuts them off from any hello and says, “I’m trying to make appointments but all my things are at my office--my datebook, my pads. I need them.”

"Oh," Eddie says. "Yeah, of course. We can go get them."

“Not you,” Jon says. “Harvey will be looking. Not safe.”

“I can go,” says Jay, just like he’s supposed to. “You’ve got a car somewhere, right? Just give me the address.”

Eddie gives Jay an adoring look. "I'll hang out here," they say. "I'm so glad you came out, Jon!"

“I’ll come out in a minute,” Jon says. “We have to get my keys. Order me a drink, Eddie, I feel like a drink.”

Eddie's expression is full of such naked relief that it makes Jon feel even sicker. "Yeah, of course," they say.

“Thank you,” Jonathan says. “Come on, Jay.” 

Jay follows him, and Jon has to bite back laughter, because it’s working and it’s bad and Harvey’s voice is in his head. They push through the too many people and back into the private hallway, and the sudden quiet that hits, when the door swings shut, makes Jon’s stomach lurch. He spins around to face Jay, pushes him against the wall so he’ll listen.

“You have to go, the bridge,” he says. “Harvey called. Pioneer's. I need--” Stop. Stop. Work right. Think.

"Wait, wait," Jay says, frowning. "Slow down. You're okay." He puts his hand on Jon's arm.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Jonathan says, jerking it away. “Harvey. Robin. Twenty minutes. Pioneer's Bridge.”

Jay stays very still, but only for a handful of seconds. Then he says, "Car keys."

Jonathan lied, he already has them, so he pulls them out of his pocket and drops them into Jay’s hand. 

Jay nods. "Thanks--Tell Eddie where I went. It's too dangerous to bring them." He gives Jon a grim little smile and then hurtles off down the hall toward the exit.

Jonathan presses his palms, good and bad, against the wall and tries to breathe. Everything inside is a haze and a hurricane. He thinks about going back to his room and locking the door and putting on his mask. But he doesn’t have his mask. And he can’t disappear. Eddie will know something is wrong. _Tell Eddie_. No. 

“Jonathan, pay attention,” he whispers. Then he puts himself together and goes back into the club.

Eddie is still at the bar. They wave Jonathan over, drink in hand. "Here," they say over the chatter of people. "You look like you need this."

Jonathan accepts, the glass is cold, he drinks and it’s things he likes. He has to do certain things. He doesn’t tell himself it’s all right, or anything else. The important thing to do now is to drink this without his stomach turning and smile at Eddie when they look at him. Look back, maybe.

"I'm glad you're out here," Eddie says, tilting their head and smiling at Jon.

“People are probably looking,” says Jonathan. “They like to look.” He feels the injury on his face without touching it. Stitches out. Still ugly. Ugly forever.

"Screw them," Eddie says lightly. "They're probably looking because you're cute." They touch Jonathan's arm, a careful pat.

Jon jerks back, accidental, it’s too late to undo it, though. Maybe if he puts his hand on the glass. No, that’s both hands. That isn’t right either.

"Hey," Eddie says, frowning. "Are you okay? Want to go out back again? I'll come with you." Once Eddie sees a problem, they never stop worrying at it.

“I don’t like to send him out,” Jonathan says. “That’s all. You and I are fine.”

"Yeah we're fine," Eddie says. "But he's fine, too. It's just your office. I really don't think he'll see Harvey."

“No,” says Jonathan. “He won’t see Harvey at my office.” There, that works.

Eddie frowns. "What does that mean?"

“What I said,” says Jon, after a pause.

"You remember who I am, right?" Eddie says lightly. "Why did you say it like that? Also, you're acting really weird."

“Don’t,” says Jon. “Eddie, don’t do that. I made it safe.”

"You made _what_ safe?" Eddie says. Jon can see that they're pale, even in the low club lighting.

Jon can’t tell if anyone is listening, but someone always is listening in a place like this.

“You said we could go in the back,” he says. “You did, Eddie, I heard you.”

"Okay, come on," Eddie says tightly, sliding off the stool. Without looking to see if Jon is following, they make their way, walking too fast, to the door into the back hallway. 

Jonathan follows, leaving his glass behind, because Eddie will make it public if they have to, but he feels sick with terror, more and more every step of the way. If they go beyond that door, Eddie will turn into Harvey.

Eddie opens the door. When they shut it again, the hall is so quiet.

"What the hell did you do?" Eddie asks, voice taut.

Oh, they are Harvey. They are Harvey.

Jon says very quickly, “You can’t make decisions for Jay, Eddie, you know you can’t do that.”

"What decision did _you_ make for him?" Eddie spits, taking a step toward Jon.

Jon steps back. If he runs out of here, there will be lots of people, but they won’t help.

“He wanted to know if Robin got hurt,” he says. “I had to tell him that. It wouldn’t be right.”

"Jon, _what did you do?_ " Eddie shouts.

Jonathan is so afraid he feels buoyant. “I just told him where to go,” he says. “He wanted to know where to go. Harvey said--”

"Harvey--" Eddie explodes, then they stop dead. They get very still and very quiet. "Sorry," they say softly, after a second. "I was yelling. I didn't mean to yell. Can you tell me what Harvey said?"

“I’m not a child,” Jon says, but he feels like something worse. Eddie is quiet, but the thing in Jonathan is just as bad as before. Not that it matters. He has to answer. “He said he’s going to throw Robin off of Pioneer's Bridge in twenty-two minutes.” He thinks, which is hard. “But now it’s less.”

Eddie goes absolutely white. "He set a trap," they say. "And you threw Jay right into it. Why would you do that?"

Jonathan stares at them. “Because--but he said--but Jay won’t get hurt.”

"Are you kidding?" Eddie asks. Their voice is very tight, but it's not loud. "Did you really think that? I could have gone along to help!"

If Jon had known it was Harvey, he could have recorded the call. He could play it back to Eddie, to make it make sense. 

He says, “He won’t die twice,” with a kind of hopeful hysteria, and then the way Eddie looks at him for saying it breaks the whole thing down. Jonathan Crane, Jonathan abruptly understands, is the stupidest person either of them knows. Jon says, helpless, “He said he’d stop.”

"Fuck," Eddie says. "Fuck, shit. Fuck _him_. Not you, I'm not mad at you." They scrub at their face. "You--You're going to be _okay_ , honey, I promise. But I'm going to go help Jay."

“No,” says Jon. Because if Eddie goes, it doesn’t count. No. Eddie doesn’t care about that. Try again. “No, that’s--I mean, we’re not enough.” They have never been enough.

"Shit," Eddie says. "No, you're right. So what do we--? We'll call Batman. _Fuck_. We can't do that. I don't even know Batman's number. Hold on, Jay's phone was back in the room. Maybe--let's just check."

“Nightwing,” says Jon. 

"You're a genius," Eddie says. "Hang on." They disappear back into the room and reappear moments later with Jay's phone. "No Nightwing in the contacts, but he was texting someone, and I think it's him."

“You know his password?” Jon says. He sounds almost real. He still feels sick. 

"He doesn't have a password," Eddie says. "God, this had better be Nightwing. Okay, no time, here goes." They hold the phone up to their ear. After a second they say, "Yeah, hi, this is the Riddler. Is this--Great, okay, it is you. Jay's in trouble with Two-Face, and so's the little one. Pioneer's Bridge, now. He'll kill them both if you don't hurry. I'll meet you there." Eddie hangs up and looks at Jonathan defiantly. "I have to go," they say. "Come or don't."

“He took the car,” says Jonathan. He presses his hands to his face, harder and harder. It hurts. “He has the car.”

"We'll get an Uber," Eddie says. They take Jonathan's elbow very gently, "Come on. Come on, you're safe. You can stay here if you want, or we can get dropped a few blocks away and I'll walk to the bridge. You don't have to come all the way." They laugh shakily. "I'm no good in a fight, anyway, so I don't know what I'm rushing for."

“I’ll go,” says Jonathan. “You are bad at fighting.”

"There's nobody like you in the world," Eddie says. " _Thank_ you." They grab Jonathan's good hand and lead him back out.

**TIM**

Tim’s arms ache, and the hood of the car is cold and hard under his body. He’s never been angrier at himself, but he’s trying very hard to push that aside. He knows enough about Two-Face to know that he’s not going to have many chances to get out of this alive. Focus on the way out, he tells himself. Get out, and then get mad. 

He tries not to be distracted by the blood in his mouth, either. It doesn’t matter. He’s not out of commission. He’s just tied up and in pain. He can work through those things.

There’s not much traffic on the bridge, but everyone who sees them is a let down--as soon as they catch on, they spin around and drive away. Tim is getting increasingly disappointed in Gotham citizens, as no one seems to have called the police. 

Tim is counting down from twenty-two as well as he can without a clock. He’s pretty good at keeping time. It’s not exactly reassuring. He wishes Two-Face would keep talking--it’s easier to read someone who can’t stop talking. But aside from some very specific threats, he doesn’t say much.

Suddenly, though, the sound of a car squealing to a stop. Two-Face straightens.

"Oh, what the hell?" Two-Face says, watching the car. "Jon?"

Tim strains to turn his head where he can see it. _Jon_ doesn’t get out of the car. It’s someone else, short, dark-haired, older than Tim. It takes Tim a couple tries to get it, but his body language is familiar, and his face--Jason Todd. You can’t be in Bruce’s orbit as long as Tim has, or be who Tim is, not not recognize Jason Todd. Red Hood really _is_ the last Robin. For a second Tim is flooded with excitement, and a sense of triumph. He was right. It’s _Jason_. All the Robins are alive. 

But from the way he’s looking at Tim--a frission runs through Tim’s body. Is Red Hood here to help, or to help Harvey kill him? 

“I’m here,” says Red Hood. “What do you want?”

"I want to find out if death is gonna stick to him a little better than it did to you," Two-Face says.

“This is what you’re wasting your time on?” Red Hood says. “The way you always talked about yourself made you sound important, Harvey. And you’re spending your time chasing vendettas and stealing little kids?”

Tim resents that, and almost says so out loud, but he doesn’t really want to draw attention back to himself.

"You don't understand," Two-Face says. He sounds eerily calm. "You took what was mine. _Twice_."

“No idea what you mean,” Red Hood says.

"You know what I mean," Two-Face says. The gun is still pointed straight at Tim. "Where's Jonathan?"

“Couldn’t say,” says Red Hood cavalierly. He sounds so angry. He’s definitely going to get Tim killed. Tim tries to look back over at him, but there’s not much to see. He works on his hands again, but Two-Face obviously has a lot of experience in taping people up effectively. 

"Doesn't matter," Two-Face says. "I'll find him. I already have a pretty good hunch. So listen, here's the deal. I'm going to flip a coin. Either I shoot the kid in the head or I shoot him in the knees first."

“I will absolutely kill you,” Red Hood says. “I don’t care what Eddie and Jon want. I don’t care what Batman wants. I will bleed you all over this asphalt.”

Okay. That’s colorful, but hopeful. If Tim moves in Red Hood’s direction, it might not be as stupid as it sounds. He just needs a moment. 

"You're all talk," Two-Face says. "You don't have the balls or the skills. I'm going to kill Robin, then you, then the two of them."

“Because no one will suck your nasty dick anymore?” Red Hood says. “You really are pathetic.”

Tim throws himself backwards over the hood, away from Two-Face and towards Red Hood. He lands awkwardly and painfully in the road--there’s at least two shots fired over his head, but he doesn’t know whose gun. Red Hood goes running, in Two-Face’s direction.

Two-Face fires at Red Hood, and when that doesn't stop him, he snaps, "I'll kill the kid, idiot.'

Tim hates to watch this going down without being able to _do_ anything, but he’s useless like this.

“Give me a knife!” he yells. Red Hood glances at him for less than half a second, and a moment later a knife comes flying past him and lands noisily on the ground. Good. That gives Tim something to do. 

On the down side, that’s given Two-Face a brief moment of advantage.

Two-Face uses it to dash forward, grab Red Hood's shoulder, and knee him in the stomach. When Red Hood doubles over, Two-Face grabs a handful of his hair in one hand.

"Fight like a man," he says.

Tim doesn’t worry about whatever the hell that means. He tries to keep his attention half on cutting himself free, half on the scene in front of him. There’s no time to to be distracted, or helpless.

Jason snarls, “Like you?” And then he goes for Two-Face’s throat.

Two-Face stumbles backwards to avoid him, grabs the front of Jason's jacket, and smashes both of them up against the guardrail. "Ready to die again?" he asks.

A few things happen, at almost the same time. Tim breaks through the tape on his wrists, and quickly frees his ankles as well. A motorcycle engine revs behind him--and Tim looks, and it’s _Dick_ \--and Jason punches Two-Face right in the eye.

Two-Face howls in pain and rage. He grabs Jason by the hair again and slams his head against the guardrail twice, hard. Then, to Tim's horror, he takes Jason's limp body and hauls it over the guardrail and down into the river.

From behind him, Dick yells. He doesn’t run towards Two-Face, but to the opposite side of the bridge. He flings something down to the river--a grappling hook? Tim winces, because it’s got to be too short, and if it does catch, it’s going to hurt. 

Assuming the blows to the head didn’t kill him. Or the impact. Or the water.

He doesn’t let himself watch for more than a moment, though--there’s nothing he can do there. Instead he gets to his feet, knife in hand, and swivels his head towards Two-Face.

Two-Face laughs, but it's a furious, mirthless noise. "Gonna stab me again, kid? You can't go toe-to-toe with me. Maybe I'll kill three Robins today."

“You’re so screwed,” Tim says tightly. “You’re banking on being Batman’s friend, but do you think he’ll let you get away with hurting us?”

"You don't know shit about it," Two-Face snarls. His gun is on the ground. "You just walked into this situation, thinking you were part of it, but you're disposable." He takes a knife out of his jacket.

“What, not like Red Hood?” Tim asks, adjusting his stance. “I’ve been doing this as long as he ever did.”

"You're just filling the hole he left," Two-Face says. He makes a jab for Tim with the knife.

But Tim is small, not slow. He dodges and swipes up with Red Hood’s truly vicious knife, and catches Two-Face across the plain side of his face.

Two-Face howls with what Tim thinks at first is just pain, but then he grabs for him, swiping with his knife and screaming, "What have you _done_ , you little monster?"

Tim jumps back, focused and wary. The gun is on the ground. He keeps his eyes on Two-Face, but darts forward and grabs it, then runs to gather distance between the two of them. 

"You don't know how to handle that thing," Two-Face spits. "You won't use it. You're like Batman. Weak, pathetic." He's bleeding freely from his face.

Tim has no interest in _handling that thing_ , just in getting it away from Two-Face, so the jibe doesn’t really land. He glances over at Dick, who is hauling on the cable like something heavy is caught on the other end. That’s good, except Tim isn’t sure he’s succeeding. 

_Think,_ he tells himself. He glances into the car behind him--no keys inside, unfortunately.

And then another car pulls up, sleek, large, black, and classic, glinting even in the dim glow of the streetlights. 

Two-Face sees it and starts swearing, just a stream of filthy, furious language. He marches toward the car, swinging the knife.

Someone--a skinny guy, pale-faced--hops out of the passenger side door, and another, even skinnier guy, climbs painfully out of the back. The second guy remains behind the open door, clinging to the edge. There are bruises and cuts on his face that must have looked much worse a week ago. 

Two-Face stops abruptly. "Here to help?" he asks. His whole demeanor shifts. He's quieter, more contained. "You'd just better be here to help the right person."

"Where is he?" the first guy asks.

Two-Face jerks his head toward Dick. "If he isn't pulling up a dead body, I'd be shocked."

The first guy goes even paler. "What?"

Two-Face laughs shortly. "Come on. Let's take out the rest of them. Jon, come on."

Scarecrow. Tim puts it together. Scarecrow and Riddler. But who’s driving?

Scarecrow says, in a hiss, “Don’t you think I’m coming near you, Harvey. I told you. I told you I won’t.” 

Dick yells, “A little help!”

The Riddler flings himself toward Dick. "Coming, got it!" He wraps his sleeves around his hands and helps Dick haul.

The Riddler turning his back seems to have enraged Two-Face. He shouts incoherently and starts toward the car again. "I'm going to gut you like a fish, Jonathan," he says. "And whatever I do to Eddie will be much worse."

The Scarecrow’s knuckles are white against the car door. Tim, watching Two-Face advance, thinks, _shoot him, shoot him_ , but the gun is cold in his hand and Two-Face is right, it’s not something he knows how to do. He could just as easily miss, or kill him, or hit someone else, as do what he’d want to. 

The Scarecrow is visibly shaking, but he doesn’t move, or say anything. Then, as Two-Face approaches, the driver’s side door opens, and someone climbs out unhurriedly. 

_Him_ Tim recognizes. The Penguin. Half the villains in Gotham are here--Tim feels like he’s going nuts. 

Two-Face stops. "Oswald." His voice is poison. "I knew you were helping them. You're going to wish you hadn't."

“Oh, Harvey,” the Penguin says. “I don’t enjoy trouble. I’ve been trying to decide for weeks what is going to cause me the least amount of it.”

There’s a shout from behind Tim and he turns to see Dick and the Riddler gingerly lowering a limp, wet body from the rail to the ground.

Tim feels sick, and wrenches his eyes away. _If he dies again, what will Bruce do with me?_ he thinks, and then pushes away from the thought. 

"If he's not dead, you're all going to be sorry," Two-Face tells the Penguin. "Last chance to walk away, Oswald."

“Harvey,” says the Penguin, “who do you think you are?” He takes out a gleaming pistol and shoots Two-Face in the gut.

Two-Face makes a terrible sound and doubles over, then slides to his knees.

"Oh my god," the Riddler says. "Oswald, we need--We need a hospital. For, for Jay, I mean."

The Penguin takes out a phone, which no one else seems to have thought of, and puts it to his ear. Tim hears him talk to emergency services, but he finds it hard to focus on that. He’s trying too hard to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to be doing in all this. Penguin on the phone, Dick and the Riddler crouched over Jason--Dick is doing CPR, which could be a terrible sign or a pretty good one and there’s no way to know. Two-Face moaning on the asphalt. 

Tim’s eyes land on the Scarecrow. As he watches, the Scarecrow unpeels himself from behind the car door and edges in Two-Face’s direction. He looks murderous and frightened, which is pretty much what Tim would expect from the Scarecrow anytime. He finds himself watching, uncharacteristically frozen, waiting to see what horrible thing is about to happen.

Two-Face looks up at the Scarecrow, his face contorted with pain. "What now, Jon, huh?" he pants.

“You did a lot of stupid things,” Scarecrow says. He’s still a couple yards away from Two-Face. If Two-Face goes at him, should Tim--help? One of _them?_

Two-Face tries to struggle upright, then gives up. "Guess we all did," he says. "You have to live with your choices."

Scarecrow makes a funny, awful little sound that Tim doesn’t understand, except that it gives him an anxious pain in the back of his throat.

"What?" Two-Face says raggedly. "What, _what?_ "

Scarecrow shakes his head, his visible fist balled at his side. (On the other side, Dick, doing CPR, Riddler pressing his hands to his mouth.) Penguin puts his phone in a pocket and watches. 

"You won't be happy," Two-Face says, voice dropping in volume. He sags against the pavement. "They're going to leave you in the dust, Jonathan."

Tim feels suddenly small, like a whole bunch of things he’s not a part of have just waltzed their way into the middle of his kidnapping. For a moment he feels like Two-Face’s words were right, and he is the one extraneous thing. 

“Jon,” calls the Penguin. “Either way. Just let me know.”

The Scarecrow hugs himself and takes a step back. 

“Leave him,” he says. 

“Mm,” says the Penguin noncommittally. “All right. Get Eddie. We need to be gone before the _law_ arrives.” He turns to Tim, surprising him. “You. Catch.” The pistol sails through the air and Tim automatically catches it, flinching. “They won’t care if it’s you who did it. Especially if he doesn’t die.”

The Riddler looks at Dick pleadingly. "I have to go," he says. "They'll put me in Arkham otherwise. But I--I have to know if he's okay."

“I’ll tell you,” Dick snaps breathlessly. 

The Penguin says to Two-Face, “If you don’t die and I don’t see you soon, rest assured you’ll feel my influence.” He gets back in the car, Riddler and Scarecrow following suit, and peels out. Tim points the gleaming pistol at Two-Face and tries to tell his hands not to shake.

“Is he alive?” he asks Dick.

“Trying not to be,” Dick says. “Shut up, okay, I’m focusing.”

"He won't live," Two-Face says. "And if he does, your life will be a living hell anyway. Batman will probably put him back in your place." Tim knows Two-Face is just looking around for things to hurt him with, but it kind of works.

He says, unable to work through it all and annoyed about it, “What did you do to make all your friends hate you so much?”

"Nothing," Two-Face says, "that's the thing. Beat Jon up a little, maybe threatened him. Kicked Eddie down a flight of stairs. Nothing they can't move past."

Tim thinks about Scarecrow’s face, and the awkward way he moved. 

“I think you’re lucky he told the Penguin to let you live,” he says. 

"He didn't have the balls to do anything else," Two-Face says.

“Or maybe he actually has a nice side,” Tim says, and gestures to Two-Face’s face with the gun. “Unlike you.”

Two-Face wipes blood from his face with the back of his hand. "I hope Batman finds you with that thing in your hand and throws you out on your ass."

Tim swallows. “Maybe you should concentrate on not bleeding out,” he says.

"I hope I do and I hope he blames you for it," Two-Face says, but he shuts up.

A minute later, the emergency crew pulls in--four cop cars and a firetruck and two ambulances. In the moment, Tim tries to be a perfect victim, albeit with a gun in his hand. He hates it. He also tries to end up in the ambulance with Jason and Dick. He doesn’t. It doesn’t really make sense, since he got knocked on the head, too, but they give him a quick once-over and take him back to the station instead. He doesn’t know if maybe he should see a doctor. He doesn’t know if Jason is dead. 

In the cruiser, the officer says, “We know it’s not your fault, son, we just want to ask a few questions about what happened.” 

Somehow, Tim is not entirely reassured.


	11. Matters of Consequence Part II

**BRUCE**

Bruce is hunting the Joker when the Batsignal lights up, and it takes him longer to answer than he’d like. When he finally arrives, Jim Gordon is shivering up there with his arms crossed. He looks more serious than usual, although Bruce isn’t sure whether that’s his mood or the cold. 

“Jim,” says Bruce. 

"There you are," Jim says. "I'm glad you turned up, but we've actually got it covered, mostly. Two-Face was causing trouble on Pioneer's Bridge." Jim always smoothly says Two-Face instead of Harvey now.

“Mm,” says Bruce. “Sorry to be late. I had a situation elsewhere. Everyone’s all right?”

Jim looks uncomfortable. "Sort of," he says. "Two-Face hurt someone pretty badly. Nightwing's at the hospital with that one. And Two-Face got shot. We--We do have Robin here. Just to find out more about what happened. He had a gun in his hand when my guys showed up."

“ _What?_ ” Bruce says. A small corner of his mind reacts to Dick having been on the scene, and to the fact that he felt the need to follow this _someone_ to the hospital. The rest is on Tim. Tim, who wasn’t supposed to be out at all. “What do you mean? He didn’t shoot him?”

Jim hesitates. "The kid's pretty shut down. I think he's in shock. Said he wanted to talk to you first. He actually had two guns on him, Dent's and another."

Bruce clenches his jaw and tries not to leap to any conclusions. Tim has always shared Bruce’s principals. He’s always taken orders. At least, Bruce has thought Tim understands him, and his rules, and why they matter. He wouldn’t use a gun--except he’s been lying about where he is, so who knows what else.

But no. Bruce should talk to him, before he gets angry, or lets his sense of foreboding cloud his judgment.

“I want to see him,” he says. 

"Sure, of course." Jim looks uncomfortable. "He's in the interrogation room. Just until we figure this out." He leads Bruce down into the station, where all the cops watch silently as they walk over to the locked room.

Bruce steps inside and says, “Thanks, Jim, I’ll take a moment,” and lets Jim see himself out. The door shuts between them, and Bruce reaches for a device on his belt that will interrupt the surveillance equipment in the room. He looks down at Tim and says, “You can talk freely. No one can hear us.”

Tim looks up at him. He looks terrible. He's clearly been in a fight, a bad one, and beyond that, he looks scared. Dick or even Jason might have tried to hug Bruce, but Tim doesn't even move.

Bruce’s jaw tenses and he says tightly, “What happened? Where have you been?”

"There's been--a lot has happened," Tim says stiffly. "I did something stupid. Two-Face kidnapped me." His voice goes very blank when he says it.

Bruce doesn’t hear the words at first. They go in and out of him and then come back to settle like an electric force. 

“What?” he says. It barely comes out.

"I'm sorry," Tim says in a rush. "I was at Red Hood's apartment. I know I shouldn't have been. Two-Face was there too, I went inside, I was _stupid_ , I'm sorry, Batman."

Bruce says sharply, “I told you to stay home! I told you to leave Red Hood alone! What were you _thinking_?” _He could have died,_ Bruce thinks, _he could have died too_ , and has a moment of irrationality where he thinks maybe Tim _did_ die, and this is a ghost. 

Tim inhales. "I know," he says, wooden again. "It was my fault. I'm--am I fired?" He sounds very young when he says it.

“You should be,” Bruce says sharply. “You could have been killed. What were you doing out there without me? What were you doing where he _lives_?”

Bruce hasn’t gone where Red Hood lives. He hasn’t wanted to. Not until he kills the Joker.

"I want to know who he was," Tim says. "Instead I let Two-Face use me as bait to lure him into a trap. I'm sorry. I tried to fight him." He hunches in on himself, but he doesn't look away from Bruce.

Bruce says, “Did you shoot him?”

Tim hesitates. "No," he says. "But I don't want the person who did to get in trouble. They did the right thing."

“Was it Dick?” Bruce demands. “I know he was at the scene. As was everyone but me, it seems.”

"No," Tim says. "It was one of them. The, uh, the people we fight. But Two-Face is a bad person. Really, really, really bad, Batman."

He sounds completely unlike himself. Tim, Bruce reminds himself, is very hard to frighten. He suddenly realizes how tall he is, looming over Tim like this while Tim looks up at him painfully, and feels a stab of guilt. He takes a seat across from Tim and says, gently, “Tell me what you mean. Are you--what did he do?” _To you_ is what he means. Maybe he’s a coward.

Tim's jaw twitches. "Nothing much. Knocked me out. Some threats. He didn't do any major damage." He grimaces. "What he did to the Scarecrow was worse. I was lucky."

Bruce frowns. “The Scarecrow?”

"He was there," Tim says. "Not helping Two-Face. Two-Face had hurt him. Two-Face said it like it was nothing."

Bruce decides not to make his first response, which is to say that the being hurt is the obvious consequence of walking down that road. It makes him think painfully of Jason—which makes him realize something he heard a minute back without hearing it.

He says, “Did you say a trap to lure Red Hood?”

Tim looks at him furtively. "He's at the hospital," he says. "I don't know if he's all right."

Bruce doesn’t answer right away. Then he says, “What hospital?”

"Gotham General, I think," Tim says. "Are you leaving?" He sounds resigned to the idea.

Bruce can’t trust himself to explain half of what he’s thinking--and he’s clearheaded enough to realize, at least, that half of what he wants to say would be disastrous. He takes his time answering, and says, “Do you need medical care?”

"They didn't think so," Tim says. "I guess not. Am I fired?" His voice breaks on the last word.

Bruce hardly hears it. He’s thinking, over and over, _Jason is dead, Jason is dead._ Dick went with him, Tim said so. He can call Dick. It won’t matter how much Dick hates that (Bruce knows he hates it) or how much Jason doesn’t want him to. If Jason is dead. 

He stands up. 

“If they won’t send you home yet, I’m going to have them put you somewhere more comfortable,” he says. “In their defense, you’re not painting much of a picture for them to go on. They may need you to stay.”

He hears himself and is astounded. His voice sounds light and wry, like this is just another small adventure on a regular night. He doesn’t feel that way at all. He feels like there’s a chasm under him and a whirlwind around him, and everything has happened out of his control. 

"Okay," Tim says, stoic and brave. "If I don't come home, my parents are going to freak out. But we'll, we'll figure that out." He gives a firm little nod.

“Good,” says Bruce, and a small part of him says, _Good? Good? What kind of response is that? It doesn’t even fit._ A small part of him, the Alfred voice, says that maybe he is doing something the wrong way. He walks out the door and shuts it behind him without looking back. relieved for Tim not to see his expression. “Where’s Commissioner Gordon?” he asks a passing officer. The officer gestures, and Bruce follows the way to Jim’s office.

“Did you know?” he says. It comes out hard. “You said Nightwing went with someone to the hospital. Did you know who that was?”

Jim hesitates. "Not sure. Not somebody in costume." He looks like he's going to say something else, but he doesn't.

Bruce nods stiffly. “Robin,” he says. “I don’t think he shot anyone.”

"That's I thought, too, but he won't say it," Jim says. "He's protecting someone. I just can't figure out who'd be worth protecting. Nightwing had his hands full; it wasn't him."

Bruce swallows the panic that is pushing him out the door and says, “Robin wasn’t very clear in explaining the situation.” _He’s in shock_ Jim had said about Tim. If he is, Bruce has left him alone that way. He clears his throat. “Maybe I should speak to Nightwing. Where is he?”

"Gotham General," Jim says. "Batman--Whoever that kid was, he didn't look good."

Bruce’s throat threatens to close up. “You haven’t heard anything?”

"They wouldn't have told us first," Jim says. "I don't know, Batman, Nightwing was doing CPR when he pulled him out of the river, and I'm not clear on what happened before he went in."

“Noted,” Bruce says. He can barely see Jim, directly in front of him. “I think I’ll check in with Nightwing, then. He may be able to clear some of this up. Can you put Robin up someplace less ghoulish?”

"Of course," Jim says. "And Batman? He's a minor. If you can't tell me who his parents are--and I know you won't--you'll need to come back for him. Otherwise I'll have to call Child Protective Services. As long as we're detaining him, anyway."

Bruce nods once, and leaves.

**DICK**

Every minute at the hospital feels both stretched and rushed. Dick isn’t sure how long anything takes, except that it all seems to happen frantically over too long an expanse of time. They come in with cops and the cops and the doctors both ask Dick who Jason is, and Dick says he doesn’t know, he can’t say, no he doesn’t know if the unknown person was carrying an insurance card when someone slammed his head into a wall and threw him in a river. 

They probably shouldn’t tell Dick anything, after that, but (probably because Jason doesn’t have a name or insurance, and they don’t want their only link disappearing into thin air) they do. They come out long enough to tell him how bad it is, and how it is bad, and that they haven’t fixed it, and then they disappear again. That’s where things are at when Bruce shows up. Not Batman--Bruce. Something about it makes Dick want to throw his fist through a window.

Bruce is very pale. He stares at Dick like he's never seen him before, which, all things considered, is probably for the best.

"Nightwing," he says uselessly. "I'm here for--I think I might know the person you came in with." There are too many people around for them to be having any kind of conversation.

“You can’t see him, Mr. Wayne,” says Dick. It comes out mean, because he’s upset. 

"What happened?" Bruce's voice is just awful, twisted and raw. "Is he going to live?"

Dick swallows. “I don’t know,” he says. “I mean--I know some of what happened.”

"I need to sit down," Bruce says. He doesn't, immediately. Then he looks at Dick finally, not just through him. "Are you hurt?" Dick has hardly ever seen Bruce be this careless with who might be listening.

“Escaped unscathed,” Dick says. “It was a--it’s a weird situation.”

Now Bruce sinks into a chair. "Can you--tell me what happened?"

Dick feels so tired and sick it’s like his bones are being wrung dry. “I don’t know everything. Is this a good place to--?” But honestly, everyone in this room is engrossed in their own traumas. He shrugs. “I got a call from the Riddler. He told me Two-Face had grabbed the kid to bait--” He jerks his head towards the door that leads to wherever Jason is. “--and that he’d gone after them. I went to the bridge just in time to see Two-Face throw him over the edge.”

Bruce buries his face in his hands and mutters something inaudible. "Thank you," he says after a second. He sounds almost unrecognizable. "If you hadn't been there--" He breaks off and just shakes his head.

Bruce is right. Jason would definitely be dead, instead of probably dying. Dick doesn’t want to think about that. He says, “How did you know to come here?”

"Gordon." Bruce lowers his voice and leans closer to Dick. "Tim's at the station. Detained, for now. Who shot Two-Face?"

“You left him at the station?” Dick says sharply. “ _Detained_?”

Bruce blinks at Dick, refocusing on him again. "He--I had to come and see for myself. I didn't know how bad it might be. I thought--I can't be everywhere at once, Dick."

Dick flinches at the name, shakes his head, and says, “You couldn’t _call me_ from the station? Are you out of your damn--he’s a _kid_ , Bruce. He was _abducted_.”

Bruce stares at him. Then he says, "Fuck." He never says that. Then, even worse, he says, "Sorry."

Unbelievable. Dick says tightly, “You know this is how you lose us. Every single time.”

"No," Bruce says, strangled. "I'm going to lose Jason the same way I lost him before. Do you understand why I'm having trouble focusing on the other parts?"

Dick shuts his eyes and counts to five. He’s handled a few badly hurt, and dead, people before. The way Jason lay on the pavement, icy and unresponsive, still presses itself to the backs of his eyelids and the palms of his hands. He feels sick and helpless and he _understands_.

“You can’t help Jason,” he says. “And if he doesn’t die, it’ll probably be hours before anything happens.”

Bruce rubs his face and doesn't say anything. Then he says quietly, "I'm proud of you. I didn't handle this right, but you did." He stands up.

Dick says, “Give him a hug for me, okay?” And then, “I’ll tell you. I promise. As soon as I know more, I’ll tell you.”

"I'll be back," Bruce says. "But not until I deal with the other things I need to deal with, I promise." He grips Dick's shoulder quickly. "Thank you." He can't make as quick an exit as when he's Batman, but he does a pretty good job of disappearing.

Dick sighs and rests his head in his hands and tries to keep his mind on nothing, instead of losing Jay again, or figuring out who to blame. 

**EDDIE**

Eddie stares out the window the whole way back to the Iceberg. They keep thinking they should tell Oswald to stop the car and turn around, but it's a stupid idea, and anyway, he wouldn't. But Jay could be dead. He looked dead. He felt dead. Eddie presses their hands to their mouth and tries to make their mind completely blank. Outside, Gotham looks and sounds like it always does, and probably none of the sirens are even for Jay.

Once, from the back of the car, Jon says, “Eddie?”

Eddie half turns in their seat. "Yeah, Jon?"

“I think he’ll remember that I didn’t kill him,” says Jon. “Don’t you think so?”

Eddie scoffs, incredulous. That's what Jon's thinking about? That? They want to scream, but they can't do that in Oswald's car. " _Yes_ ," they say. "And he'll kill you anyway. So it really doesn't matter."

Oswald clears his throat. “You two should go inside and cool off, once we’re back,” he says. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything of interest.”

"Sure, thanks," Eddie says. They can't stop thinking about Jay's limp body. And Harvey, bleeding. Bleeding, but not bleeding out. They can't untangle what they want, except they want to have stayed with Jay. A kind of distressed fury is slowly building up inside them.

No one speaks for the rest of the ride back. Oswald ushers them out of the car, and Eddie and Jon head back to Jon’s room. The door is locked. Jon has the key, but it takes him twice as long as it should to open it. 

"Hurry up," Eddie snaps, and then they feel awful for snapping, but they can't get the words out. Jon handed Jay over to Harvey. He did that.

Jon doesn’t answer. He does get the door open, and holds it open for Eddie, looking at everything else except them.

Eddie stalks inside. Their whole body is vibrating, and their throat feels tight. They want to hit someone, but they can't hit Jon, of course, which makes them even angrier. "God," they say. "This is awful."

“You could call Nightwing,” says Jon. “You have his number. Or I could do it, I make a lot of calls, for my work. So I could do it.”

"I will," Eddie says. "Later. Jon, I--" They choke on the words and get stuck. With Jon really talking to them, they can't pretend any of this is his fault. There's one person who almost took away everything Eddie loves, and that's Harvey. "Fuck," Eddie says weakly, and they burst into tears.

Jon stays standing with his hand on the doorknob. Eddie thinks he’s going to run for it, and really, Eddie doesn’t know what they’re going to do if he does. Then Jon says, “Eddie, there’s blood on your shirt. I have another shirt,” exactly like someone has ripped out his normal voice and stuck something shucked and thin in its place.

Eddie cries harder, and all they want is to tell Jon that yes, they want the shirt, but they can't get the words out. Finally they manage to say, "Come over here."

Jon lets go of the doorknob and moves in halting stages to where Eddie stands, next to Jon’s bed. “I just need to know if you want it,” he says in that alien voice. “It’s no trouble.” He’s so ashen that his fading bruises look dark again.

"I want it," Eddie says through their tears. "I want the shirt." They reach out carefully and pull Jonathan into a hug, trying to hold him in a way that won't hurt. He, at least, is alive and safe.

After a moment, Jon shuffles closer. His good hand presses Eddie’s back; his face nestles against Eddie’s neck and shoulder. 

"I'm so glad you're okay," Eddie says. "Don't go anywhere. I--I'm not mad." When Eddie thinks about it from Jay's perspective, they realize he probably would have been mad if Jon _didn't_ tell him about Harvey and Robin.

Jon’s whole body tenses slightly against Eddie’s. “You’re in shock,” he says. Eddie can feel the words, the heat of Jon’s breath spreading over their skin. “You’ll be angry later. I ruined everything, I know, I’m so stupid.”

" _You_ didn't ruin everything," Eddie says, careful not to sound angry. But they're so angry at Harvey for making Jon feel like this. "He did. And neither of us is stupid. At all." They don't let go of Jon. They can't imagine letting go.

“I didn’t kill him,” Jon says. “I should have killed him. I didn’t want to.”

"I didn't really want you to either," Eddie says. They hate Harvey, but murder makes them feel sick. They'll just have to figure out another way to be safe. That's about ten steps ahead of where they are, though. 

Jon makes a noise that’s almost like laughing, and says, “I made a mistake. He won’t calm down. _Idiot._. No one else can manage me, Eddie. I know that.”

"Yeah, he got in both our heads and made us believe a lot of things like that," Eddie says. "It's bullshit." They have to get both Jon and Jay through this okay. They have to. They're not good at that kind of thing.

Jon pulls back and says, “No, you’re saying that _now_ because you’re upset. No one else will want to be saddled with me, I'm a vicious little psychopath that can’t add single digits half the time.” He says this without hesitation, like the whole thing is a fact they both know.

"Who said that?" Eddie asks woodenly. "Did Harvey say that? Are those his words?" Eddie has a lot of Harvey's words still rattling around their head. They know.

Jon says, “You’re too good for us all, Eddie, you’re too good. You don’t understand. Harvey knew. Harvey always said if I tried to leave him for you that you wouldn’t last a week.”

"What the hell?" Eddie says, suddenly furious. "He's got no right to say that. It's not up to him what I can and can't handle, and it's not like you were the one hurting me." They think, too late, of Jon showing up with Harvey, angry and unkind, after Eddie and Jay found each other. It's not as if Jon is _easy_.

“Don’t lie,” says Jon. “And I did _this_.” His expression shifts. “I like him. Jay. I like him. I didn’t want him to get hurt. I don’t want him to die.”

"I know," Eddie says, stopped cold again by that thought. "Come on, here, sit down. We'll call Nightwing in a few minutes." They sound more confident than they feel.

“I’ll get you a shirt,” says Jon. There’s a little closet in this room, barely deep enough to get anything into, but a trash bag’s worth of stuff from Jon’s condo is neatly arranged inside. Jon takes down a shirt, wincing at the stretch to his ribs, and takes it off the hanger to hold out to Eddie.

Eddie takes the shirt, watching Jon. "I missed you," they say.

Jon says, “But.”

"No," Eddie says. "I missed you. That's all." They take their shirt off and, shivering, crawl into the new one. It's cool and soft. "I almost lost you because of Harvey," they say. Not just when Harvey attacked Jon, but before. When Eddie left.

Jon says, “I don’t remember how it worked before.”

"Like this," Eddie says. "The way it was with you, me, and Jay, before Harvey hurt you. Just going places and doing stuff. You know. Nice things. And crimes, but those were nice, too."

“Never with Harvey,” Jon says, more of a question. 

Eddie hesitates. "I don't know," they say. "There were nice parts. But you always kind of knew there'd be a nasty part in there too, eventually. It was nicer before he came along."

Jon comes and very slowly sits next to Eddie. “I know what I’m like,” he says. “Or sometimes I do. I thought he knew what to do with me.”

"He knew one thing to do," Eddie says shortly. "Harvey thought you could solve everything with violence. Before him, we knew how to help each other." Eddie can remember days when Jon was really off, or when they both were. They remember _managing_ that.

Jon nods. “I haven’t helped you. In a long time,” he says.

"Well, come on," Eddie says. "You stitched up Jay, who you hated at the time. And don't pretend you just did that so we'd owe you." Their stomach clenches when they remember yet again where Jay is right now.

Jon takes Eddie’s hand and squeezes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think that far. I thought he’d be--he’s going to be all right.”

"I'm scared," Eddie says, and oh no, they're going to cry again. They don't want that. They're so sick of crying.

Jon’s weight presses against Eddie’s. “We could have a drink,” he says. “Something warm. While we’re waiting.”

"Yeah," Eddie says, presses the heels of their hands against their eyes. This is the Jon they remember, or the half of him they remember and haven't seen in a long time. "Come on, let's go together. I don't want to be apart right now."

“I meant together,” says Jon. “We can go out. You bring that phone. We’ll go out.” He offers a bleak little smile. “There’s no one to worry about out there.”

That's true, at least right now, and it makes Eddie's knees weak with relief. They get up and offer Jon their hand. They don't let go of it for a long time after that.

**TIM**

Tim thinks this might be the second worst day of his life, right up there with his mother's death. He's going to jail. Forget that, he's going to get fired. The only thing that's really mattered to him is going to get taken away, because he was too stupid to be responsible with it. Bruce isn't even going to come back for him.

Shortly after Bruce leaves, they move him somewhere else, an office. Commissioner Gordon brings him a drink--hot cocoa, which Tim picks at--and tells him they're working on sorting it out. It doesn't change Tim's feeling that the world is ending.

He's there for what feels like forever. He hears people in the hallway talking about him at one point, and he hears questions about taking his mask, or calling CPS. He wants to die. He wants his dad.

Hours after he leaves, Bruce comes back. 

Tim hears his voice in the hall, and then he comes into the room and shuts the door quietly behind him.

“Robin,” he says. 

Tim just looks at him. Ideas about what might happen, each worse than the last, pile up inside him, and he doesn't know what to say to keep them from happening. "Please," he manages. He sounds like a little kid.

Bruce takes several steps towards him, moving more stiffly than usual. Then he leans down quickly and hugs Tim so tightly it hurts. 

Tim makes a small, wounded noise and is immediately embarrassed, but Bruce doesn't seem to be letting go, so maybe it's okay. Tim clings to Bruce. Bruce has never done this before.

"I screwed up," Tim says thickly.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce says at the same time. There’s a moment’s pause where they both try to work out the traffic of speaking, and Bruce says, quiet and urgent, “Are you all right?”

Tim thinks about it. He wants to be okay, but Bruce is asking him like he really wants to hear the answer. "Not really," Tim says.

Bruce gives him one more fierce squeeze and then backs off, his hands still on Tim’s shoulders. “You could have died,” he says, with all the weight of having seen it happen. “Why didn’t you run as soon as you saw him?”

Tim shakes his head. "You'll be mad," he says. It's okay, he can handle mad. He has to. "I was too curious about Red Hood. That was his hook. He got me into Red Hood's apartment." Tim thinks too hard about that and has to grab the edge of the desk. The sick, trapped feeling hasn't gone away.

Bruce’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “You’re safe,” he says. “Two-Face is handcuffed to a hospital bed, and I won’t let him get that close to you again.” As if that’s a promise he can keep. “But he’s never come after Robin like this before. Why now?”

"Because of Red Hood," Tim says. "Because Red Hood cares what happens to me." He frames it carefully, because he's not sure exactly what Jason _wants_ to happen to him. But he remembers how furiously protective Jason sounded, yelling at Bruce about losing Robins.

Bruce says, “And he wanted to hurt Red Hood?” He says it painfully. Tim realizes he doesn’t know, yet, if Jason is alive or dead.

"Yes," Tim says. He closes his eyes and lets it all be about Jason. "I think...Two-Face is jealous. Of whatever's going on with Red Hood, Riddler, and Scarecrow." He doesn't think, he's sure. That part was obvious.

Bruce manages to look deeply uncomfortable. Still, he says, “I see. I think there are still some holes in this story. It seems like half of Gotham was on that bridge, and I don’t understand exactly how that came to be.”

"Two-Face called the Scarecrow," Tim says. "To send Red Hood. But I don't know how Nightwing found out. Maybe Red Hood--Batman, he's--" He suddenly feels very overwhelmed. "It's him. Robin."

Bruce sags. “You found out,” he says. 

"You found out?" Tim asks. Of course Bruce didn't say anything. He doesn't trust Tim.

Bruce says, “I did.” He frowns. “You’re angry.”

"No," Tim says. Then, thinking about it, he realizes he kind of is. "Well, if you'd told me, I wouldn't have gone over there."

“I told you to--” Bruce starts, and then says, “Never mind. I should have known better. You’re too much like me.”

"Oh," Tim says. He smiles tentatively, which doesn't quite work out. "Thanks. So maybe he called Nightwing. Or maybe some of the others did. I don't know. There was a lot going on that I didn't understand." He does know he won't be able to look at the Riddler and the Scarecrow the same way next time they fight.

“Some of the others?” Bruce repeats, questioning. “You said the Scarecrow was there.”

Tim nods. "Him and the Riddler and the Penguin. They all showed up together." He hesitates. "I didn't shoot Two-Face. I don't think all of them are getting along anymore."

Bruce goes wooden with discomfort. “From what you’ve said, that seems to be true.” He doesn’t ask for details, though. Maybe he knows Tim doesn’t have answers, or maybe he doesn’t want them himself.

"Did you hear if Jason's okay?" Tim asks after a second.

“Stable,” says Bruce heavily. “But he may not wake up.”

Tim swallows. "Okay," he says. "That's my fault, then." Bruce is going to fire him for sure.

“ _No,_ ” Bruce says vehemently. “You said yourself that Two-Face was going after Red Hood. Not you. You were a pawn. You didn’t do this.”

"I'm fired, right?" Tim says flatly. Better get it over with. But Bruce hugged him, which was weird, so maybe...he doesn't know what to think.

Bruce doesn’t answer at first. Then he sits down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk--a comfortable rolling chair, definitely someone’s. “Experience tells me that I shouldn’t have a Robin at all,” he says. “You’re very young. And you get hurt.”

Tim feels the bottom drop out of the world. "Don't," he says. "Don't, don't, this is everything, it's--" To his shock and horror, he starts to cry.

Bruce says, very quietly, “Tim. You would be all right.”

"I wouldn't," Tim says. "You don't know. This is all I've ever wanted." He knows he should stop crying, because he's not making a good case for himself, but the whole day is hitting him all at once. He wants to go home. He wants his dad.

“When Jason died,” Bruce says, “and you found me. You saved me. I mean that. I can’t pay you back for that by getting you killed.”

"It's my choice," Tim says. "I'll be more careful." It all sounds pretty hollow, and he's too tired to argue well. "Batman, I have to call my parents." It suddenly feels even more urgent. Maybe tomorrow he can talk Bruce out of this.

“I’ll take you home,” Bruce says. “What do you want to tell them?”

"I don't know," Tim says. "I have to, I need to change. I need to...I just want my dad." Suddenly he cares about that way more than he cares about whether he's fired or not. He could have died and his dad and Dana wouldn't have known for hours.

“I’ll take you home,” Bruce says again. He hesitates, and adds, “If you tell them the truth, it will be over. I can’t promise you it isn’t over anyway, but I want you to understand that, when you’re deciding what to do.” 

Is he giving Tim permission to give away their secret? 

"This is a lot to think about right now," Tim says. He hates how his voice shakes, and he tries to get it under control. He just wants his Dad to know everything _and_ to keep doing this. But he's not stupid. Bruce is right.

“Let’s go turn you back into a civilian,” says Bruce, which hurts even after Tim realizes he just means a change of clothes. “We can talk about what you want to do.” He looks tired. His mouth looks tired.

"I want to help," Tim says quietly. "I want to make sure you and Dick and Jason are all okay. I can still do that."

“I don’t doubt that at all,” Bruce says.

"I'll change if you get my stuff from the Batmobile," Tim says. "Can we just tell my dad I got kidnapped by Two-Face and I'll figure out what I want to do with the rest of it tomorrow?"

“If that’s what you want,” says Bruce. 

Oh."I don't know what I want," Tim says. "That's the problem." He does, though. He wants to keep doing this forever, and to grow up to be Batman. But there's another part of him that just wants his parents to know he's safe, and to be able to tell them where he is and if he's in trouble.

Bruce says, “Come on. We can talk on the way.” He puts a hand briefly on Tim’s shoulder and leads him out. No one tries to stop them, which Tim somehow doesn’t expect despite Bruce’s confidence. 

The Batmobile is squirreled away nearby. When they’re both inside and Tim is changed, Bruce says, “It’s very different with you. Dick and Jason didn’t have any other family. There was no one to lie to.” He pauses. “I never have to lie to the people who matter. It puts you in the worst position out of any of us.”

"I know," Tim says. "I hate it." His dad's the most important person in the world to him, maybe even more important than Bruce.

Bruce nods and focuses on driving for a minute. Then he says, “I know you care about this. But it was selfish of me to take you on the way I did. It was a selfish decision. I did it instead of facing my responsibilities, and that’s...not fair to you, either.” He shakes his head. “You deserve better than any of this.”

Tim recognizes some of the language. He's heard it from Dick, when Dick was recounting how Bruce fired him. "I don't want anything besides this," he says, but hopelessly. He's not even sure what he's fighting for. He's too tired and numb to think. What he's saying isn't quite right, either. He wants to keep going to school, then probably college, and to make his family happy. He's never been sure how to fit those things in with being Robin.

Bruce says, “It’s been a long day. You should get some rest, and be with your family. I just wanted--I don’t know. For you to understand your situation, before you decide what comes next.” He pauses again, like there’s something else, but he says nothing. 

"I do understand," Tim says. He should have been practicing for what to say if (when) this came up. "It's okay, you don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid. You can just…talk to me."

Bruce says, after a moment, “It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t, would it?” He adjusts his hands on the steering wheel and says, “I’ve done something. And it’s something that makes you a better person than me. So I’m not sure you deserve to follow my lead anymore. Maybe wait a few years, and follow your own. Down a better road.”

Tim is quiet for a long time. Then he says, "I guess I can make that call when I know what you did." He can't imagine a lot of things Bruce could have done that would make him want to quit, though.

Bruce doesn’t answer at all, and after a while Tim gives up on getting the answer.

**TIM**

Tim feels colder and colder the closer they get to home. He wants his dad so much it hurts, but god, what’s going to happen? It feels both better and worse to know that Bruce will be with him, because Bruce can make things make sense, but it pushes his two worlds together, and Tim kind of feels like allowing this is the final straw that will make him lose Robin forever.

When they reach Tim’s house, he gets out of the car like a normal old human being. For a second he bizarrely wonders if he should ring the bell. Is he crazy? That’s crazy. He takes out his key and pushes the door open, Bruce behind him, and says, “Hello?”

His dad is there immediately, pulling the door open wider. "Tim? I called you a dozen times, I--" His eyes narrow as he takes Bruce in. "What are you doing here?"

“Dad, don’t,” Tim says. “He’s helping me. I, it was--” He’s been putting together a whole speech, the whole way here, but as soon as he starts speaking the whole thing rushes up against him and he bursts into tears. 

His dad doesn't hesitate, he grabs Tim's shoulders and pulls him into a hug. "Hey," he says. "Hey, are you hurt, are you okay?" All the things it took Bruce forever to ask. Tim throws his arms around his dad and holds on tight, sobbing. He remembers Bruce is there, he knows crying makes everything worse, but he can’t stop. 

"What happened?" his dad demands, but not talking to him.

Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably. "Two-Face kidnapped him," he says.

Tim's dad swears and holds Tim tighter. "How the hell?"

Bruce doesn't help Tim out.

“Where’s Dana?” Tim asks, half to put it off and half because he needs to know. 

"She had to work late, but she's on her way now," his dad says. "I called her after Bernard's mom told me you weren't over there after all, and you weren't answering your phone. Tim, how did Two-Face--? Why--? I'm so glad you're okay."

Bruce hovers in the doorway, watching.

Tim sniffles, embarrassingly, and scrubs tears from his eyes and says, “Can we go inside? I really want to go inside.”

"Okay, but Batman's not coming in." His dad looks Batman up and down. "Actually, why don't you? I have some questions for you. We haven't met. Jack Drake." He extends his hand and Bruce shakes it awkwardly. Tim's dad firmly shuts the door behind all of them.

It’s weird to have Bruce in his house--no, not Bruce. That would be weirder, maybe? Tim says, “Maybe we can go in the living room?” He wants to sit down. He wants water, too, but he doesn’t want to ask for it or stop for anything. God, is he falling apart this badly? God. What is he going to say? God, god, god. 

Tim's dad shepherds him into the living room and directs Bruce to a seat. He's being very short with Bruce.

"Just to be clear, it wasn't Tim's fault," Bruce says. "These things--happen in Gotham."

"They didn't always," Tim's dad says. "Are you okay, Tim?" He sits next to Tim on the couch so he can put his arm around him. Tim can feel, then, that his dad's hands are shaking.

“I’m okay,” he says. “I didn’t get hurt. Not really.” Maybe tomorrow he can bring up his head. Maybe never. He’s had worse, probably. Anyway--he wants to feel safe, but it suddenly feels even more important that his dad does.

"What the hell did he take you for?" his dad demands. Again, he's talking to Batman.

"Mm," Bruce says. "I don't know how to answer that."

And Tim does? He knew Bruce was going to leave him on the hook for this, but jeez. For a moment, the exasperation is almost a relief. But that still leaves him, a second later, being the one who has to say something. 

Is he going to do it?

Is he?

Like he’s piloting someone else’s body, Tim sits up, wipes his eyes, and puts a few inches between himself and his dad. He looks his dad full in the eyes and says, “It’s complicated. But it’s mostly because I’m Robin.”

His dad raises his eyebrows, and for a second, that's all. Then he says, " _Shit_." He never swears. "Shit, I knew--I knew something was wrong. I knew it! What the hell, Tim? No, what the hell, _you?_ " He stands up and squares off with Bruce, who stays seated, immobile and unreadable.

“It’s on me,” Tim says. “I found him, after--” He realizes abruptly that saying _after the last Robin died_ is not going to be how his dad lets Tim keep his job.

"You went _looking_ for him?" Being worried clearly isn't going to stop Tim's dad from being furious at him. "I hope you know this is over."

"I can go," Bruce says. He sounds uncertain.

"No," Tim's dad says firmly. "You stay."

“He didn’t have a Robin!” Tim says. “I knew I could do it! I knew who he--uh.”

"Oh yes? Who?" Tim realizes too late how angry his Dad is at Bruce. He thinks he might hit Bruce, from the way he's standing.

“I’m not telling you that,” he says. “Dad, I can’t.” He’s been lying to his dad for years, so it shouldn’t feel so sickening to do it now, except this is different. It feels different.

"You lied to me," his dad says, turning to him. "I didn't raise you like that. You lied to me, and you could have died."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Maybe he knows any defense of Tim will make the situation worse.

“I’m really good at it,” Tim says, which won’t help, but it’s so true, it feels like the absolute center of him, it feels like the one thing that he’s really, truly, definitely made for. He’s really good at it.

"This is--" His dad runs his hand through his own hair. "This is so wildly inappropriate that I don't even know how to explain it to you. Batman--You can get out before I get myself arrested. Come near my kid again--touch my kid again--and you're dead. You hear me?"

"I should go," Bruce says, as if Tim's dad hasn't spoken.

“No,” says Tim, because he’s scared that if Bruce leaves now, he will never see him again. “Wait, it’s not--I _need_ this!”

"You could have died!" his dad snaps. "How many times were you out there, in that kind of danger, with me not knowing about it?"

Tim glances helplessly over at Bruce, trying to figure out, vainly, how he can keep him here. He says, “I don’t--I don’t know. It’s been--” It’s been years. He’s been lying for years. Is his dad even going to forgive him?

Bruce stands, caught in the doorway. "He was good at it," he says quietly. "Is good at it. He's saved my life, and the lives of lots of other people. I know that's not what you want to hear."

Tim's dad shoves Bruce in the chest, hard. Bruce takes a step back, but that's it.

Tim realizes he’s pitting them against each other, and that, after all this, is the last thing he wants. He _will_ find a way to get back to Bruce, he promises himself. He needs to know if Jason is okay. He needs to know what Bruce did, that he was hiding. He needs to do his job. 

“Batman,” he says, and it hurts so much to say that he almost doesn’t get it out, “it’s okay.”

"I'm going to go," Bruce says. "Because I have to. But you still have my number, Robin, and it's not going to change." Whether he called Tim that out of habit or on purpose, Tim can't tell, and he can't ask, because Bruce turns and leaves.

Tim bites his lip and feels the blood pounding in his chest and his ears, and he looks, very slowly, at his father.

"You're grounded," his father says flatly. Then he buries his face in his hands. "Oh god, Tim. You could have died."

Tim says, “It’s never been like that before. I was just--I was stupid. I’m not stupid, normally.”

"Don't," his dad says. "This isn't your fault. What you did wrong was to lie about it. To do it in the first place! But getting kidnapped isn't your fault. It's on Two-Face. And Batman."

“He didn’t know what I was doing,” Tim says. “I was sneaking out--”

"Of where?" his dad says, incredulous. "Do you know how this sounds?"

“I know,” Tim says. “I get it, I just--this is really important to me, Dad.” Every word is a horrible mistake, but they’re all coming out anyway. “Nobody was helping,” he adds, making it worse and worse. 

"Well--who cares?" his dad demands. "You're a kid. Your job is to go to school, not help lunatics who run around getting shot at."

“I care,” Tim says. To his fury, he finds himself crying again. “I care, because no one else--I help people. I really, really help people. You _said_ Gotham is worse than it used to be, but I make it _better._ ”

"Not anymore!" his dad shouts. He takes a deep, shaky breath. "I will _not_ lose you to something entirely preventable, do you understand me? Losing your mother was enough."

Tim gasps, and then they’re both staring at each other in silence, Tim crying and his dad with an expression on his face that Tim has never seen before, and hates, _hates_. Tim isn’t sure who is going to break the silence, but it’s his dad. 

"You are never doing that again," his dad says, his voice icy. "You are grounded, and I do mean confined to the house, until further notice. And that is because I love you more than anything in the world, and this is _unacceptable._ "

“Dad,” says Tim, begging. “You don’t understand.”

"There's nothing you could say that would change my mind," his dad says. "Do you understand how mad I am?" Tim does. His dad almost never raises his voice.

“It’s my life,” Tim says recklessly. “Nothing else matters like being Robin. _Nothing._ ”

"Well, you better find something," his dad says, "because that's over." Tim realizes, with horror, that his dad is crying. Just a little, and he still sounds so mad, but he is.

He hates it, he hates that his dad is scared and angry and that Tim lied to him, but the terrifying, exhausting day he’s had, and losing Robin and Bruce on top of all of it, has pushed him past the point of being reasonable. He doesn’t feel like himself at all. A great big bubble of rage rises up in his chest. 

He opens his mouth and he yells ( _Yells!_ At his _dad_!), “If you hate Robin then you hate me, so I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about!” and runs past him, up to his room, and slams the door so hard the whole house shakes. Before he can think better of it and after his hands start shaking, he pushes his dresser in front of the door. Then he collapses on the floor in front of it and starts sobbing into his hands.


	12. Recovery

**BRUCE**

It’s been a terrible couple of days. The manor feels empty, and Bruce feels empty, and filling his time with convincing the hospital--among other authorities--that Jason is Jason, but not Red Hood, feels as bad as it does productive. Jason isn’t going to thank him. Bruce had to do it, to be allowed to stay close to him, in order to get him care, but Jason isn’t going to thank him for it. 

Bruce stays shut up in his own head, checking in hour after hour, stopping by, pushing other business aside while Alfred gives him looks and Dick sends increasingly agitated texts that Bruce answers only cursorily. When the hospital calls to say Jason is awake, he’s alone in the Batcave. He keeps his voice steady on the phone, and then nearly breaks down once he hangs up. But when that’s over, he has to think. Jason is awake. He can’t ignore what that’s going to mean.

He calls Dick, and without waiting for a hello, says, “I need you at the hospital. As a civilian.”

"Hi, Bruce," Dick says wearily. "How are you?"

“He’s awake,” says Bruce.

There's a short silence. Then Dick says, "Oh my god. That's--great! That's good, right? He's okay?"

“Well,” says Bruce. “You know how badly he was hurt.” Head trauma. Dislocated hip. Lacerated calf. Hypothermia. Bruce can’t think about it, and has only been thinking about it. “They said he’s lucid. Or, as much as--with the medication.”

"But that's still great news," Dick says with forced and desperate cheer. "You want me to go over there? What do you need me to do?" His voice dips at the end, as if he's realizing he might have to do something he doesn't like.

Bruce braces himself, then says, “Can you go with me?”

"To see Jason?" Dick says. "Uh, do I have to?"

Bruce shuts his eyes and rubs his forehead. There are creases in it. “What do you think will happen when I show up alone, tell him I’m his legal family again, and try to bring him to the manor?”

There is, again, a pointed silence. "Got it," Dick says. "But don't you think--I don't know, Bruce, maybe I could talk to him first. I don't know if you're ready to see him. Or if he's ready to see you. He's still pretty angry. Maybe he could stay with me."

“Dick,” says Bruce tiredly. “Awake doesn’t mean healed. He’s going to--need care. A lot of it. I know you work eighteen hour days. And do you even have the room?”

"I know," Dick says. "I know it has to be the manor. But it's going to be bad. Are you going to be able to handle it if he yells at you all day?"

“I’ll deal with that when it happens,” says Bruce. “Just help me talk to him. Help me get him home.”

"You're already coming at it wrong," Dick says, "but I'll help. Just because he has to go somewhere."

“Great,” says Bruce. “I’m headed there now.” He hangs up before Dick can say anything more demoralizing.

When Bruce arrives at the hospital, Dick is already there, waiting by his motorcycle in the hospital parking garage. Bruce takes a moment behind the wheel to pat his pockets for things he already knows are there. He’s dressed up exactly nicely enough for the hospital staff, but too nicely for Jason and Dick. They’ll know what he’s doing and hate it. They’re both going to hate all of this. Bruce gets out and locks the car, tucks his keys and his hand in a pocket, and makes his way back to Dick. 

“Thank you,” he says.

"Sure, of course," Dick says. "I'd do anything for Jason." What he would do for Bruce is obviously a separate question.

“I know,” says Bruce. “You always would, for any of them. Speaking of which, did you...does Barbara know about all of this?” Barbara has her own people now, and doesn’t talk to Bruce. She’ll be angry with him just like the rest--when she learns all this, if she doesn’t know already.

Dick looks sideways and away. "Kind of," he says. "I texted her. She's out of town right now. But you know her, she has her own opinions."

“She does,” Bruce says. He sighs. “It’s probably better that she’s out of town. On top of you and Jason and Tim’s father, I don’t think I want to be yelled at by anyone else. Political hecklers, maybe.”

"Tim's father," Dick says carefully.

“I took him home from the station,” Bruce says. “It’s over. No more Robins, not ever again.”

Dick stops. "You fired him?" he says incredulously.

“No,” says Bruce. He’d thought he might. “But I don’t think Mr. Drake is going to allow him back on the job. And besides--I can’t teach him anything. All I know how to teach any of you is how to get hurt.” He steps into the revolving door and gives Dick a minute to absorb all that.

Dick is silent as they walk through the hospital. Then he says quietly. "You'll change your mind. When someone else comes along."

“Believe what you want,” Bruce says. 

"Mm hm," Dick says. "Well, I'm going to check on Tim. As soon as he starts answering his phone."

“Or leave a message for his parents to pick up,” Bruce says. “I think that would really help.”

"Well, you didn't tell me what was going on!" Dick snaps.

Bruce halts. “I’m sorry, Dick,” he says. “I’ve been--distracted.” He shuts his eyes, then feels deeply embarrassed when he has open them again to dodge out of the way of a nurse who’s speeding down the hall. “Fast,” he says awkwardly.

Inexplicably, Dick smiles. "Hey," he says. "This has been crazy for all of us. It's going to be okay, Bruce. Let's go see Jason and tell him he doesn't have to eat hospital food forever."

For a moment Bruce wants very badly to tell Dick about the Joker, but there couldn’t be a worse time or place, and he does get some things right. He walks shoulder to shoulder with Dick, down the hall, up the elevator, down another hall to Jason’s room. A doctor is coming out. She says, “Oh, Mr. Wayne, welcome back. He’s still awake, but they’ll probably chase you out pretty fast.”

“Of course,” says Bruce. He hates the smell in here. He smiles at the doctor. He carefully does not look at Dick as he pushes the heavy wooden door open. 

After all these visits, Jason still surprises him. He looks small and disarmed without his dark colors and aggressive posturing. He looks close enough to how he did when Bruce found him before that Bruce has to constantly check the monitors, hold a hand under Jason’s nose, watch for his breaths. Being this afraid of him dying makes Bruce feel superstitiously like he’s going to make it happen again.

But now he’s awake. He’s looking at Bruce like he’s confused and upset, but he’s _looking at him._

“Jay,” says Bruce, trying to keep his voice even.

“You’re here,” says Jason in a croaky little voice. It sounds like a judgment.

"Yes," Bruce says. He means to explain that he's still legally connected with Jason, and so he has to be, but he can't get any of the words out. "I--You're awake." He means _you're alive._ Beside him, Dick shifts uncomfortably.

“Are they okay?” Jason asks. He’s looking at Dick. 

Dick says, “Everyone’s alive. Tim and your friends.”

"Tim wouldn't be, if not for you," Bruce says. He takes a step toward the bed. Jason doesn't look real. He just wants to be able to touch him.

“Bruce has been taking care of your stuff,” Dick says. “You know, everything here.” It’s more than Bruce expects him to say.

Jason says, “I don’t want him. Go away,” he adds to Bruce. He doesn’t summon up any of the rage he’s been showing Bruce for months. Bruce can catalog the reasons why that is--it’s the same as bringing up Jason’s chart on one of the computers-on-wheels--but somehow it feels worse that he can’t really fight with him. It feels unsafe to push back. 

“I get that,” says Dick helpfully.

"I'm here to talk about getting you discharged," Bruce says. "You don't want to be here, do you?" He tries not to sound irritated when what he really feels is hurt.

Jason looks around himself, with a brief, awkward turn of his head. “Out?” he says. 

“Not today,” Dick says, then turns to Bruce. “Just--soon. Right?”

"Soon," Bruce agrees. "But part of that means agreeing on a plan. You're not--well enough to be discharged home." He doesn't even know what home looks like for Jason. Tim knows more than he does at this point. He feels very distant from Jason, and he doesn't know how to talk about coming to the manor when Jason will barely look at him.

“No,” says Jason. He looks like he’s going to cry. 

"I want you to come home with me," Bruce says in a rush. He can already feel the shape of Jason's answer.

“I’m going home,” Jason says. Bruce can see him struggling through the painkillers. “I want to go home. I want them, not you.”

“Bruce, you have to explain better,” Dick says.

Bruce feels frozen. "I want you to stay at the manor until you're well enough to go back to your apartment," he says stiffly. Jason wants-- _who?_

“Sure, that works,” Dick grumbles. He pushes past Bruce, to lean in closer to Jason’s bedside. “Jay, hey. I can get them a message. All right? I can tell them you’re safe.”

“You didn’t tell them I’m safe?” Jason says, briefly more energetic. “Jesus fucking shit, Dick.”

“No, I _did_ , I’m saying, no one’s taking you away from them,” says Dick. “But you need somewhere after the hospital. With people who can take care of you while you’re getting better.”

"Someone with resources," Bruce says shortly. "Who isn't likely to be in and out of Arkham." He's letting his confusion and fear make him angry, as he always does, but how can Jason want _the Scarecrow_ more than he wants Bruce?

Jason looks like he’s going to crawl up out of bed and start fighting.

“Hey!” says Dick, and they both turn to look at him.

“They’re going to kick you out of this bed any day,” says Dick to Jason, and then, to Bruce’s surprise, he helps. “You’ve got to go somewhere that somebody can look after you until you’re feeling better. Do they have an extra bed? Are they going to drive you to physical therapy? Are they going to do the paperwork to make you legally alive again?”

Jason is crying now, just a couple angry tears racing down his cheeks. “Fuck yourself,” he says.

Dick shrugs. “Well?” he says.

Bruce says, very gently, "I want to help. I know you're angry. I'm not telling you to stop being angry. But you're hurt, and I want to keep you safe." All the other things he could say, angry and apologetic, crowd behind his teeth. He doesn't let himself say them.

“What do you mean, alive again?” Jason says. He still sounds tearful. It’s got to be partly the drip.

"There's no legal record of you," Bruce says. He swallows hard. "Since Lebanon." He comes to stand next to Jason's bed. He still desperately wants to touch him.

Jason squeezes his eyes shut. “I know that,” he says. “But you--”

“He’s your legal next of kin,” says Dick carefully. “Now that they know you’re you. Come on, Jay. How do you think we got in?”

The look Jason shoots them both might be horror, but maybe it’s something else.

"You're coming to the manor," Bruce says firmly. "You can hate me there. I'm not letting anyone else be put in charge of your care."

“Alfred,” says Dick.

Jason very slowly frowns and says, “Alfred.”

"He wants you at the manor," Bruce says, which is true. "He misses you." It feels manipulative, but he's willing to be, if it will get Jason home.

Jason is drug- and pain-dazed and probably can’t tell what’s true or a lie, but he looks so hopeful at the promise that Alfred wants him. It’s the opposite of how he looks at Bruce, which is gutting. 

“Dick,” he says.

“Of course Alfred wants you, you stupid asshole,” Dick says. 

Jason’s gaze creeps back up to Bruce.

"We both do," Bruce says. He can hear that his voice sounds wrong--too tight and distressed--but he forces himself to smile at Jason.

“You go,” Dick says. “I’ll keep them in the loop. You can vet the texts. Ace will be there and Alfred will be there and Bruce knows how to take care of you.”

“I don’t forgive you,” Jason tells Bruce. But he looks so hopeful under the tiredness and pain.

"I don't care," Bruce says, exhausted and relieved. "Let's get you home." And he puts his hand on Jason's shoulder after all, forgetting not to.

Jason looks away again, sinking into the blankets like he might be half asleep already.

“Hey,” says Dick. “That’s a lot for first waking up. We’ll be back later, okay?”

Jay nods quietly, eyes drifting shut, and Dick beckons for Bruce to leave with him. 

Bruce tears himself away from Jason and follows Dick down the hall. It's nagging at him, that Jason is still so angry. He could fix that. He needs to tell Jason what he did. But the situation was too public, and Dick was there--Dick, who Bruce hasn't told either. Dick, who is the only one who knows it was on the table. Bruce is so preoccupied with this thought that he doesn't say anything at all on the walk to the parking lot.

“Well?” Dick says, when they reach his bike. “Are you just not going to say anything, now that you’ve got what you want?”

"This isn't anything close to what I want," Bruce says sharply. He's immediately frustrated with himself. He doesn't want to drive Dick away any more than he wanted to leave Tim at the police station that night. He needs to get control of himself. "I meant to say thank you," he says. "For--knowing how to talk to Jason."

“Yeah, well, he’s not furious with me,” says Dick. “It helps.” 

Bruce feels the truth eating away at him like acid. "Can we talk in my car for a minute?" he asks. He turns and starts walking before Dick has a chance to answer.

“...Yeah?” Dick says, then jogs to catch up with him. He gets in without further commentary, but nails Bruce with a look. 

"I need to tell Jason, so I need to tell you," Bruce says woodenly. He has the irrational thought that saying it will make it true, but it's already true. He can remember every detail. "I killed the Joker."

Dick’s whole face drops. “Oh,” he says. “Well, that explains--when?”

Bruce braces himself. "After the police station, before the hospital," he says. "The first night."

“Jesus Christ,” Dick says. “No wonder. And then you fired Tim and stopped talking to me for two days. I couldn’t get in to see Jason without you, you know. I wasn’t Nightwing. I was pretty mad about that.”

"I wasn't thinking," Bruce says. The past two days are a blur, with a few bright, sharp moments. He hasn't really slept. "I have to let Jason know. That will help."

“You can’t assume that,” Dick says. “You’re setting yourself up if you think that way.”

Bruce knows that. He's been trying not to confront that fact, though. "Then I shouldn't have done it," he says. Maybe he shouldn't have done it anyway.

“Yeah, no, you shouldn’t kill people for emotional leverage,” Dick says.

Bruce can't look at Dick. He feels ill. When he speaks, he doesn't feel like himself. "I killed him so he couldn't hurt anyone else," he says. He's not sure that's even true. And if it is, where does that stop? Should he be expected to kill Harvey, too? What has he done?

“Is that why you fired Tim?” Dick says. “Because you’re ashamed?”

"It's not related," Bruce says, although of course it's all related, in a way. "I didn't fire him. He chose to tell his father and that put an end to things." He pauses. "No. I'm not ashamed." Panicked, a little, yes. But not ashamed.

“Okay,” Dick says. “That’s good. Weird to think of Tim quitting. I didn’t think he’d ever.”

"It's for the best," Bruce says. "I meant it. No more Robins. No more people in harm's way." He has a terrible feeling that that's not all that will have to change, now that he's crossed a line, but he can barely think past today. And if he's misleading Dick a little about Tim, that's for the best, too.

Dick nods. Honestly, Bruce expects a worse reaction, from Dick of all people, and he’s braced for it. But did just says, “So you’re not ashamed. Are you okay?”

Bruce takes that as the invitation it is, for once. "Not really," he says. "No. But I think I will be. You're all safe."

Dick takes a minute to answer. “There’s other dangerous people,” he says. “And I can’t answer for Jay or Tim, but--you think Babs and I are going to stop going out? Getting involved? Babs has her team, she’ll never quit. And I’m, you know. I’m not really built for anything else at this point.”

Bruce hates to hear that, because that's a situation he created, too. "I can't control what you two do," he says "I've learned that. But Jason and Tim are my responsibility."

Dick makes a noise that is--a guffaw? And then says, penitently, “Sorry. No offense. I just--long term? Jay? You just can’t go into this telling yourself that you’re….I don’t know. _Owed_ him.”

Bruce's gut twists. If that's how Dick sees it, that's how Jason will see it. "He's angry at me for not avenging him before," Bruce says. "He can't have it both ways. Either I'm responsible for him or I'm not."

Dick raises his eyes to the ceiling of the car. “I’m not going to argue,” he says. “Just--” He shakes his head. “Never mind,” he says. “Just let me know when he’s leaving the hospital. It would be embarrassing to try and visit if he’s not there.”

"You--" Bruce clears his throat. "You can visit at the manor, too. Of course." Dick might, for Jason.

Dick says, “Good to know.” Then he shifts in his seat and says, “I’ve got to go. Team huddle. Snacks will be bad if I don’t pick something up.”

Bruce always forgets that Dick's on a team, in addition to everything else. He's somehow become more of an adult than Bruce, it seems. "Go," Bruce says. He smiles at Dick. "Hey. Thanks for coming today, Dick."

“Yeah,” says Dick. “I mean--yeah. No problem.” He gives a half smile, and nothing else, and gets out of the car. 

Bruce drives home feeling worse than when he left. Nothing is coming together how he wants it to, and although it all feels slightly outside his control, it isn't, which is worse. He just hopes that Jason coming back to the manor doesn't make it worse still.

**JASON**

The move from the hospital to the Manor is uncomfortable and awkward and Jason is still too woozy to really understand where they’re at most of the time. A distant part of him feels forlorn at being stepped down to pills for painkillers, and another, larger part of him knows to be angry and unhappy at being forced to go to the manor. He knows he tries to fight Bruce when Bruce helps him into a wheelchair, and he doesn’t stop until Bruce is replaced with Alfred. Seeing Alfred is a confusing relief. And then he’s upstairs, put back to bed. It feels like he’s done enough work for the next several months. For a few minutes he’s alone, head spinning, and then Alfred comes back.

"I brought tea," Alfred says quietly. "I wasn't sure what you drink now." He sets the tray on Jason's bedside table. The house even smells the way it used to. He starts tidying the already tidy room, moving things on top of the dresser. "It used to be that extremely colorful soda," he adds.

Jason doesn’t answer right away. His head is throbbing and he’s marveling at the unreal feeling of being in this space, this smell, this conversation. Not that it’s a conversation if he doesn’t talk. 

“I like soda,” he says. It sounds weirdly defensive.

"Good," Alfred says. "There's a case downstairs." He pauses by Jason's bed. "Jason--You've no idea how good it is to see you alive and well."

Jason overcomes the weirdness of all of this long enough to crack a grin. “Not that well, right?” he says. 

"It could have been much worse," Alfred says, "as you well know. May I?" He raises a hand and indicates placing it on Jason's shoulder.

Jason says, after a moment’s hesitation, “It’s okay.” It’s not that he doesn’t want Alfred to do it. It’s just...different than he expects.

Alfred touches Jason's shoulder, and squeezes hard. He doesn't say anything or try to explain, he just does that for a minute and then lets go. He smiles. "Well. You're real, at least."

“Yeah,” says Jason, although at this second he doesn’t feel that real. He says, “I’m sorry I didn’t come see you. I couldn’t.”

"I understand," Alfred says. "Although I hate to think of you out there alone. Much as I'm sure you think you can take care of yourself." He raises an eyebrow and regards Jason's current position.

Jason grimaces, and says, “But I’m not all alone. And being with Batman didn’t exactly help me, did it?”

"I'm not saying it did," Alfred says delicately. "But it's a relief to hear that you're not alone. Good friends, then?" Jason doesn't know what Bruce has told him. Probably nothing. It's Bruce. He tries to figure out exactly how to put it so Alfred won’t be scandalized.

“You don’t like them,” he says finally. “But they’re okay.”

"Mm," Alfred says noncommittally. "As long as you're looking after each other."

“Yeah,” says Jason. He hasn’t spoken to Eddie directly since it happened, and the distance feels bad. Frightening. He changes the subject to something equally shitty. “Are you mad at me?”

He doesn’t mean those exact words. They make him sound like a little kid.

Alfred pauses, like he's frozen. Then he says, "No." There should be more. Some kind of condition or qualifier.

Jason shifts, setting off fireworks in his hip and calf, and says, “But you’re on his side.”

"Bruce's?" Alfred asks. "Often." He straightens some of Jason's blankets around him. "But I don't think of it in terms of sides. You were lost, and now you're not. That's enough. For him as well, you may find."

“Yeah, right,” Jason says sleepily. Being around Alfred is so soothing, despite everything. “I’m a bad guy now.” Part of him hates the joke because he’s _not_ the bad guy, and he doesn’t want anyone to think that he thinks that. But it’s too far away, and the words are already out of his mouth. He lets them float. 

"If anyone tells you that," Alfred says, and his tone is clipped and icy, "they'll have me to contend with. And that includes Bruce."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, to see if that will quiet down some of the painful jostling inside his skull. 

“I missed you, Alfred,” he says. “I really, really.”

"So did I," Alfred says with feeling. "And when you're feeling better, I'll give you a proper hug."

Jason has to keep his eyes shut not to lose his last remaining cool. 

“That’s a promise,” he tells Alfred. “You can’t take it back.”

"I won't," Alfred says. He lays his hand on Jason's forehead very gently. "I'll leave you to rest."

Jason hears him go, and sinks into sleep for a while. A long time, maybe, because the light is very different when he wakes up. He feels cramped and achy, and he’s in the manor, which makes him want to cry on a few levels. Also, when he opens his eyes, Bruce is there.

“Go away,” Jason says. 

Bruce sighs. He's in a chair next to the bed, pulled up close. "I'm not going to do that every time you ask," he says.

“I didn’t say I would talk to you,” Jason says. God, he hurts. Whatever he had at the hospital, he wants it back.

"You don't have to talk," Bruce says. "But I need to." Bruce is always inexorable as a tidal wave, rolling forward regardless of anyone's objections.

Jason thinks about asking for medicine, because if he’s going to have to hear Bruce speak maybe he could not be in a fuckton of pain the whole time, too. But he doesn’t. He says, “Do what you want.”

Bruce clears his throat and sits forward, watching Jason. He looks like he hasn't slept. Jason doesn't care. "I'm not saying this with the expectation that it will change things between us," Bruce says. "But I do need you to know. The Joker's gone."

The words hit, and evaporate, faster than water on a hot pan. That doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense.

“No, I’ve been tracking him,” Jason says. “No, he’s in Gotham. He never leaves Gotham.”

Bruce swallows. "No," he says. "Let me try again. He's dead. I killed him." He says it slowly, flat, so there's no mistaking the words.

Something cold stabs at the center of Jason’s chest. He stares at Bruce. _The Joker is dead,_ he thinks. The words don’t mean anything. Jason is going to kill the Joker. Nothing can kill the Joker. Bruce would never kill the Joker.

He pushes at the blankets. “No,” he says.

Bruce waits, watching him.

“You didn’t,” says Jason. “You wouldn’t do that.” Something big and terrible is happening to him, and he doesn’t know why it feels like this. He can’t wrap his head around what Bruce is saying to him.

"I'm sorry," Bruce says. "I should have waited until you were feeling better, but I thought you'd want to know. You're right. I wouldn't have done that. But I--You were right to be angry. And I couldn't lose you twice." He sounds almost conversational, like it's normal to be saying these things, but his voice is shaking.

“I don’t understand,” Jason says. Fear and alarm are waking up inside him, as bad as when he woke up at the hospital and thought he was still about to die again.

"I killed him after Two-Face attacked you on the bridge," Bruce says, as if he's just getting used to the words. "But I'd already made up my mind before that. After you shouted at me in the street. After the Riddler told me off and I knew it was really you."

Jason says, “But you don’t do that.” It’s all he’s wanted since he came back, of course it is, but hearing Bruce say those things makes Jason feel like his world is plummeting away. Bruce wouldn’t do that. Why did he _do_ that? Why didn’t he do it _before_?

"I know," Bruce says. "But I did it." He looks at Jason, not exactly with hope, but maybe with desperation.

Jason stares at Bruce for a few more seconds, everything turning blank around him.

“I shouldn’t have come back,” he says.

"No," Bruce says. "No, that's not right." He suddenly sounds different--very sure of himself. More like Bruce. "You didn't cause this. I made a decision based on the facts at hand, and based on discussing it with Dick. That's not your fault or your responsibility."

“I was gonna do it,” Jason says. He shakes his head, nausea sloshing through him. “I was.”

"I didn't want you to," Bruce says. "For a lot of reasons." He frowns. "Jay--Do you need a painkiller?"

“Fuck,” says Jason. “He’s dead?”

"Really and truly dead," Bruce says. He looks sick when he says it, but he whisks the expression away fast.

Jason feels the awful need to get up and move, run, hit something. But he’s stuck where he is, with his stupid fucked up leg and his head pounding. “Fuck,” he says. He wants to see the body. He thinks of what it must have looked like and feels a very strong, real urge to throw up.

"I'm sorry," Bruce says after a second. Then he says, "Well, no. Not really. It was the right choice."

Jason says, “Where is he?”

"Buried," Bruce says shortly. "In the cemetery, but unmarked."

“He can come back, then,” Jason says. “Anybody can come back. We have to get rid of him. I have to see it.” He doesn’t know when he started crying.

"Jason," Bruce says, so gently. He pulls his chair closer and touches Jason's hand. "We can do that. When you're feeling better, I promise."

“I didn’t want to make you do that,” Jason tells him ridiculously, tears dripping into his ears. “I didn’t want that.” Of course he did. But he doesn’t want it _now._

Bruce is quiet for a minute. "Jason," he says. "You can't _make_ me to do anything. I would think that was clear before, when you were so angry. I did it because it was the right choice. Even if it took me a long time to see that." He reaches out to touch Jason's hair, then thinks better of it withdraws his hand.

Jason’s heart lurches after it. Bruce, not quite touching him, feels worse than his head. He says, “What, now you’re going to kill Two-Face? You’re going to kill all the bad guys? You’re going to be like me?”

"No," Bruce says. "My understanding is that Two-Face is being...managed. And I don't know what you're going to be like, but not a killer, I think. I don't think either of us are, really."

Jason thinks Bruce is deluding himself. Not about himself, maybe, but Jason is--what Jason is. Jason is ruthless. Jason is a murderer. And you can’t just walk that back, even if you can get away with it somehow. 

He says, because it’s the question he really has, after all this, “Why didn’t you come get me?”

Bruce swallows. "Jay," he says. "I did. I was just too slow." His voice goes thick at the end.

“You never came,” says Jason, “and you didn’t kill him, and you got a new Robin.”

"If Tim hadn't found me," Bruce says, "I would have either killed the Joker or died. Probably both. Take what you want from that, but you were my life."

“No,” Jason says. It’s too much, he wants it and he can’t stand it and it makes him so sad he feels like he’s breaking apart. “No, you’re fine. You’re Batman.”

"I am fine," Bruce says. "I am now. But I think you know better than either Dick or Tim that Batman isn't all I am." And he does lay his hand on Jason's head. It's heavy and warm, and he runs his thumb through Jason's hair.

Jason says, “I didn’t want to go away,” and is suddenly sobbing so hard he thinks really will throw up.

Bruce leans in and holds Jason, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for Jason to feel how much he means it. He rubs Jason's back as he cries, and while Jason thinks Bruce is crying too, he isn't sure.

"It's all right,” Bruce whispers. "It really is, now."

Jason holds on tighter and tighter, like he can’t stop. “I tried really hard,” he tells Bruce. “I tried to stay awake.”

"Oh my god," Bruce says into Jason's hair. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't get there in time. I'm sorry I didn't make it right sooner. I'm sorry."

Jason nods against Bruce’s shoulder and lets himself cry until he’s wrung out. Then he leans back and looks at Bruce, feeling puffy and queasy and worn out. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Because you did that.”

Bruce nods, squeezing Jason's arms. "It didn't feel good. But it's fine. I'm dealing with it, and that's not yours to worry about."

Jason bites his lip and says, “Are we--did we--are we okay now?” He laughs when he says it, because it sounds insane.

"We're okay," Bruce says. "Love you, Jay." It doesn't even sound funny coming out of his mouth.

Jason can’t quite say the words back, but he wipes his eyes with the inside of his elbow and nods until he’s dizzy. 

When Bruce finally pulls away, his face is damp, too. "Let's get you some medicine," he says. He opens one of the drawers in the room and rattles around with some pills, which he hands to Jason, along with a glass of water. After Jason takes them, he says, "Do you need anything else?"

Jason needs a million things but he’s not sure how to pinpoint any of them. What he really wants is to know Eddie is okay, and to have them here, but that’s obviously not an option. He says, “Can you tell Dick to get my phone back? I left it...somewhere.” _At the Penguin’s place_ is probably not something Bruce needs to hear.

An expression crosses Bruce's face, but Jason is too tired to figure out what it means. "I'll try," Bruce says. "We may have to get you a new one. But don't worry about that now."

Jason should lie down, but that seems like another difficult thing to do. “I’ll be bored,” he says. “You know I get up to shit when I’m bored.”

Bruce tries to give Jason a quelling look, but it turns into a smile halfway through. "I do know. Just promise you won't get up to it alone until you're feeling better. Or--not without Dick."

 _What_ is Jason going to do now? That’s such a big question that he scraps it and pretends it never happened. “Is my dog here?” he asks.

"Your dog," Bruce says, but not like he disagrees. "He is. He's been lying outside your door since we brought you here."

Jason says, “Oh. Can I--can I see him?”

Bruce nods and goes to the door. As soon as he opens it, Ace is there, surging to his feet and pushing past Bruce's legs and into the room. He trots to the side of the bed, wagging wildly, and sticks his face in Jason's side. He sniffs frantically, wuffling into Jason's armpit.

“Ace,” says Jason, “oh, good boy, good boy.” Ace’s fur against his hands is so familiar and warm. He never thought he’d see his dog again. He thought he’d never see his dog again. “You’re such a good boy,” he says, and buries his face against Ace’s head, not caring that Ace is still throwing his head around in excitement.

"Careful," Bruce says, maybe to both of them. Ace starts to lick Jason's face frantically.

Jason throws his arms around Ace and starts laughing. Careful doesn’t matter. This is better than careful.

After a moment Bruce says, "I'm going to leave you two alone. I'll be back later." He gives Ace's hind end a pat before letting himself out, leaving the door ajar.


	13. Phone, Home

**EDDIE**

Eddie feels like they've been waiting for a call from Nightwing for a thousand years. He texted within the first eight hours to say that Jay was alive, then a few days later--after Eddie's frantic texts--to say that he's out of the hospital but Nightwing can't say where. He's alive, he's awake, he's safe. But no, Eddie can't talk to him or know where he is. Eddie feels like they're losing their mind.

The only good thing is Jon. He and Eddie have still been at the Iceberg--Eddie insisted, so Jay could find them--and Jon is looking better every day. He’s feeling better, too, and Eddie knows because he’s restless. 

They’re sitting at one of the small tables close to the bar, splitting three different appetizers that they’ve eaten too many times already. Jon is poking a truffle fry against the metal basket they came in, and saying, “If Oswald is going to handle things I wish he would handle things, because I have a lot to do, Eddie, and eventually someone will rob my house.”

Jon having a lot to do is very soothing. He's almost back to the way he was before Harvey beat him up, both physically and mentally.

"Well, I have to stay here," Eddie says. "In case Jay comes back." They can't think what other options there are, but they also don't know who he's with.

“That’s not true,” says Jon. “You have his phone. He knows your number and his number. He knows other places you could be.”

Eddie doesn't like to admit it, but there are other reasons to stay here. The idea of having Oswald watching their back is too appealing. And there's Jon. "If we leave," Eddie says, "I have to go back home alone."

Jon smushes the fry. “No,” he says. “Why?”

"Well--could we go together?" Eddie says. "To your place, not mine, obviously." It feels bad to say, with Jay still missing. It sounds loaded. But Eddie can't stand the idea of being alone right now.

“Yes,” says Jon, as if that was already the plan. But then he glances at Eddie, a little worriedly. “He knows where that is, too. I can get you an air mattress.”

"That sounds good," Eddie says. "Jon….What if we can't find him? What if Nightwing never texts me back?" They have both phones with them all the time, just waiting for him to answer. Sometimes bugging him periodically.

Jon says, “We’ll set a trap for Batman. We’ll make them give him back.” 

Not _don’t worry_ , not changing the subject or sighing or waving Eddie off. Not give him back _to you_. Give him back.

Eddie's heart lifts a little. "Do you think he's with Batman? He's probably chained up in his base, don't you think?" Really, they have no leverage on Batman. They never have.

Jon sags. “Maybe not,” he says. “I just thought. Nightwing. Batman might be involved. But I guess they don’t really like each other, do they? Bad breakup.”

"I hope so," Eddie says with relish. "Well, if Nightwing wasn't being such a dick, we'd already know. I don't know why he's--" Eddie frowns, stuck on a thought.

Jon looks up. “What? Why what?” he says. 

"I think," Eddie says slowly, "that I might have some leverage on Nightwing. I'm going to call him." There's a chance it's nothing, and Jason just put him in the phone like that because Nightwing is, indeed, a dick. But Eddie has a feeling.

Jon says, “Oh. Am I invited?” like he already knows that Eddie has limits and that they’re not stupid, either.

"Let me just find out if I'm even right," Eddie says. "Then I'll decide. Okay?" They smile at Jon, who is being so perfect right now. They don't want to think too hard about this idea in case it's wrong, or in case it doesn't go anywhere.

“Fine,” says Jon, reaching across the table for a wing. “But I’m not leaving the table.” He inspects the wing and dips a dry end in a puddle of sauce. “So if you find anything out you can come and find me.”

Eddie gets up, gives Jon a clumsy, impulsive hug, and dashes into the back room. Then they locked themself in to call Nightwing from Jay's phone.

Nightwing has never picked up before, not since the night on the bridge, and he doesn’t pick up now. So Eddie calls again. And again and again and again. The eighth or ninth time, Nightwing picks up, and says, “Is this--? What do _you_ want?”

Oh good, Nightwing's only friendly when he wants something from you. That's a great start. "You know what I want," Eddie says. "Just tell me where he is." They're willing to play their cards fast if they need to, but admitting you know the real name of one of Batman's friends isn't exactly a risk-free thing to share. Maybe they can get away without having to do it.

“I can’t tell you that,” Nightwing says long-sufferingly. “I promise, he’s doing well. No I _can’t_ tell you where he is. Yes, he’s going to recover, and yes, it’s going to take awhile. Anyway, if he wants to find you after he’s up and around, I’m sure he will.”

Eddie sighs internally. Okay. Clearly they know where they stand. "He's my boyfriend," they say. "Last I checked, he wasn't anything to you." _If_ he wants to find you, they replay in their head. Fuck Nightwing.

Nightwing says, “He was always something to me.”

"If you cared about him," Eddie says, "you'd at least come get his phone so he could talk to us. That's what he wants." They say it with confidence, but they don't even know how much talking Jay can do right now.

“If _you_ cared about him,” Nightwing snaps, “you wouldn’t have gotten him involved with Harvey Dent. You wouldn’t have chased him onto that bridge. And you wouldn’t be letting him lie for you about it.”

Rage flares in Eddie's chest, alongside a little thrill that Jay is coherent and defending Jon. "And who are you protecting, Richard?" Eddie asks.

Eddie can hear his small intake of breath over the phone. 

"Where is he?" Eddie says. This part always feels so good, when the puzzle starts to come together. Nightwing probably won't kill them for this. They hope.

“I can’t tell you,” Nightwing says. “I really--cannot tell you.” The tension in his voice tells Eddie that the blackmail has weight, even if _Dick_ isn’t bending under it.

"Not with you, then," Eddie says. "With who? You know, it's a good thing I was right, I thought maybe he put you in his phone as 'Dick' because you are one." They're running through the options in their head. They can probably solve this piece without help. Only so many people would take Jay out of the hospital.

“You’re clever, right?” says Nightwing, insultingly. “You know you don’t want to know this.”

"So, Batman," Eddie says. "Right?" That's the only threat that would matter, and it doesn't matter to Eddie right now. They're willing to brave Batman to get Jay back. No way will he let Jay go on his own. But another part of Eddie's mind is already working. Richard and Jay. Richard and Jason? No way are those names not tied to Batman's.

“Give it a couple weeks and Jay will be on his feet,” says Nightwing. “Just wait it out. Don’t be stupid.”

"Yeah," Eddie says, distracted. "Wait out Batman. So--I just have to find out where he lives." Part of Eddie understands the implication of that, and the rest is just working on solving the puzzle. They pull out their own phone.

“I’ll put you in touch,” says Nightwing. “I’ll do what I can. Don’t _do_ it. Oh my god. I’ll talk to him right now, just don’t do what you’re doing!”

It's too late now. Even if Nightwing does when he's promising, it's too late. Eddie has the pieces, and they can't stop. They pull up Google on their phone. "Okay," they say. "Deal."

“I mean it,” says Nightwing. “Right now. I’m going. Just--keep your promise. Oh my god.”

"Mm hm," Eddie says. "I am." They scroll through the results. Results for "richard jason gotham." For "jason murder gotham." For "jason obituary gotham dick." _There_.

“Okay, good,” Nightwing says. “Just--keep that phone charged. And don’t be stupid. I’ll call you.”

"I won't be," Eddie says, over the roaring in their ears. "Thanks." They hang up, throw the phone onto the couch, and say, "Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit."

**EDDIE**

Eddie doesn't think Nightwing will warn Batman, but it's possible, so they don't wait long. Just long enough to stop shaking. They solved it. The big one. And right now, the only reason it matters is that that's where Jay is.

They stop by Jon's table on the way out. "Hey," they say, breathless. "I'm going to see if I can get to Jay. I have a plan. And it needs to just be me." There's a higher likelihood that Batman will panic over Jon knowing.

Jon looks at them, canny. Jon is very smart, even if Eddie is smarter, and he knows Eddie, too. 

“Well,” he says. “You can take my car, now it’s back from the impound.”

"You're wonderful," Eddie says. "Promise I'll be careful." As careful as they can be, under the circumstances. "I'll be back soon, hopefully with Jay." They take the keys, give Jon a jaunty smile, and leave.

They go to Wayne Manor in civilian clothes, but they bring a gun. Not that they really know how to use it. They bring both phones, their wallet, and nothing else. It's not like anything else will help them if Batman decides he really hates people knowing.

The annoying part is that it's so obvious. Of course Batman was someone with money, and everyone who reads the tabloids knows that Bruce Wayne has a habit of taking in wards and adopted kids and all of that. He doesn't have one currently, which makes Eddie wonder about new Robin, but that's a mystery for another time.

Eddie goes right up to the gate and presses the buzzer. This is going to be so weird.

Almost immediately, they hear barking up at the big, dark manor house. Of _course_ it’s Bruce Wayne. What kind of billionaire keeps his house looking like a crypt?

A minute after that, a man’s voice crackles through the speaker. 

“Excuse me, young man,” he says. “This is private property. I’m afraid we don’t take solicitations.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. They really don't know how to play this, but they only have a second to decide what will get them through the door. "My name is Eddie Nashton," they say. "I'm here to see my boyfriend? Jay?"

There’s a pause. “That’s an extraordinarily cruel angle to take even for the paparazzi, young man,” the voice says. “Please leave the property, or we will call the police.”

Eddie sighs. "Look," they say, flattening out the politeness in their voice. Less Eddie, more Riddler. "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for this. I don't think you need the police. I think your boss can probably handle me. Tell me, are you any good at riddles?"

“I don’t know why you’re here, except to get a story or put your nose in, but you’re certainly not going to have any contact with my _boss_ ,” says the man disdainfully. “And I’m happy to handle you myself.”

Eddie wraps their hands around the bars of the gate and squeezes, trying to ground themself. "What has a billion dollars, a successful company, and also likes to run around at night dressed as a bat?" they say. "Let me in. I want to see Jay."

“You have two minutes to remove yourself,” says the man. “I’m coming down.”

"Thanks for the warning," Eddie says. Okay. Maybe there's another way in. Their heart feels like it's beating out of their chest. Batman will want to see them, right? If only to beat them up until they don't dare do this again?

When someone appears across the lawn, it’s not the British man with the older-sounding voice. It’s Bruce Wayne himself, looking sterner and more physically capable than he ever has flashing his bright white smile on TV. He comes up to the gate and says, “My butler tells me we have a troublemaker at the gate. What do you want?”

"You know who I am," Eddie says. Their hands are shaking, but they think it's mostly because they're so angry. "Or you should. I don't look that different without my mask. And neither do you, actually. Your jaw is very distinctive, Batman."

The distinctive jaw jumps. Bruce Wayne frowns deeply. 

“What’s your name?” says Wayne. “My butler also says the troublemaker is a gossip-chasing paparazzo, and all of you people should know by now that I only put up with that _offgrounds_.” 

Of course he'd deny it. He's denying it so well that for a second, Eddie isn't sure. But they saw Jason's picture in the obituary. "Let me see Jay and I won't keep bothering you," Eddie says. They pause and roll the name over in their head. "Jason. Jason Todd."

“What outlet?” Wayne says, taking out his phone. “Where do you work? Come on.”

"Hey," Eddie says. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" They flash back to yelling at Batman outside the club, before. "You really want me to leave, knowing what I know?"

Wayne looks up, stoical, his thumbs poised over the screen. “What do you think you know? This is a family matter. And his name doesn’t belong in your mouth.”

That's Batman, 100%. "When you were trying to arrest him, I was taking care of him," Eddie says. "Jon and I both." Then they remember something else. "You saw us," they say slowly. "That day in the pastry shop. The way you looked at him…"

Wayne freezes. Oh, yes. That’s right. He made a huge, idiotic mistake, and Eddie caught him, and he knows it.

“Do you think this will help you?” Wayne says. “Do you think it will help _him_?”

"Yes," Eddie says, slipping into some sort of odd, stricken calm. They're winning. "Being with me will help him. Let him know I'm here and he'll tell you."

Wayne raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” he says. “And I should trust his feelings about you, when his feelings about you almost killed him? You’re lucky he’s alive.” 

"He almost got killed because you couldn't tell your sidekick to stay indoors," Eddie snaps. "But if we're passing around blame, who got him killed the first time?" Now that they know more details, the blows are so easy to land.

“Me,” says Wayne, with a cold fury so familiar that if Eddie had still had doubts, they would have been vaporized in an instant.

Eddie remembers the way Batman's voice shook when Eddie used Jay's name outside that club. Maybe, they think, there's a different angle to come at this from.

"I know," they say. "I know you're trying to protect him. But he's never going to stop hating you if you try to give him what you think he wants without checking. Just tell him I'm here. Please."

Wayne doesn’t say anything for so long Eddie thinks maybe he turned into a statue or something. Then he says, in a much quieter voice, “For your sake, I’ll be clear: if you run around Gotham telling people you know who Batman is, someone worse than you are will kill you. If you run around telling everyone it’s Bruce Wayne, you’ll destroy yourself. You’re a kid from downtown, and Bruce Wayne is the most powerful man in Gotham. You have no leverage. Not even the truth. I know you’re ambitious, so just try to keep that in your head.”

"I'm not stupid," Eddie says. "That's the last thing I am. If I wanted to know this, I could have found it out. I just tried now because Jason matters that much to me."

Wayne looks a little annoyed--Eddie knows how much he hates his enemies to be smarter than he is--but he nods. 

“I know,” he says. “I’m not stupid either. Despite what you might think.”

Eddie bites their tongue, because they do want to get in. "I want to see him," they say "I really don't want any trouble with you."

Wayne punches in a code on the other side of the gate, and it swings open.

“Come in, then,” Wayne says.

"Thank you," Eddie says, because Wayne didn't have to do it. It would have been stupid not to, but it looked possible, for a minute. They step through the gate, bravely turning their back on Wayne. They still have the gun, which makes them feel better.

When the house comes into view, it’s more daunting than Eddie expects from the occasional half-photo or effusive language in trashy society pieces. It’s huge--the Waynes are the Waynes--and dark, and it looks like it’s telling Eddie personally to stay the hell away. Wayne walks right up to the front door like it’s just a front door, though, and pushes it open to wave Eddie through. 

They’re not more than two steps inside when there’s a rush of limbs and dark fur and furious barking, all much much much too close to Eddie.

Eddie jerks away. They hate dogs. "Wait, wait, hey--" they say, stumbling into Wayne.

His large hand comes down on Eddie’s shoulder, which is terrifying, although they don’t seem to be being attacked by _him_ at least. 

“Ah,” says Wayne. “Family dog. And he doesn’t like guns.”

Eddie stiffens. "Right," they say. "Sorry. Here." They hand over the gun. "I'm not--can you make him back off a little? I don't want to go past him." They can feel all their bravery draining away. That's what Batman does to people, and despite all the parts that are really Bruce Wayne, now that Eddie knows the truth, they can't understand how anyone wouldn't be able to see that he was Batman.

“Ace,” says Wayne, not raising his voice. “Heel. Sit. Good boy.” 

The giant dog does exactly what he’s told, still watching Eddie like he’d prefer to eat them.

"Where now?" Eddie asks, edging past the dog.

“This way,” says Wayne, and now he doesn’t seem worried about Eddie following after him at all. The house is bigger inside, somehow, maybe because for all the high ceilings and ornate fixtures, it’s mostly empty, and very quiet. Wayne leads them down a few halls and up a flight of stairs, and then up another flight, and says, “Third door on the right.”

Eddie really, really hopes this isn't a trap. But that would be a lot of effort, when Wayne’s every move makes it clear that he could destroy Eddie if he wanted to.

Eddie opens the door and their breath catches. "Oh my god," they say. "You are alive."

The fight music, and the sound of a bug monster latching onto Jay’s character and starting to gnaw, could ruin a little of the moment, but the way Jay’s head whips around to stare at Eddie is unruinable. They’ve been scared this whole time that if Jay wasn’t dead, he’d decided to hate Eddie and Jon. It’s their fault all of this happened, and Eddie can put pieces together.

But then Jay turns around, and Eddie really isn’t scared anymore.

"Hi," Eddie says. They think for about five seconds about how they don't want Wayne to see this, then they decide they don't care. They rush to the oversized beanbag Jay is sitting in and fling themself on him, forgetting that he's probably still in rough shape.

Jay lets out a delighted, squeaky little laugh and hugs them, too tight and then a little gentler. “What the fuck?” he whispers. “Oh my god. What the fuck.”

As quiet as he is, Wayne overhears. He clears his throat and says, “We should talk about how your _friend_ ended up on my doorstep.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jay says, unconcerned. (It’s different, very different. It’s not how he talks about Batman.) He pulls back to beam at Eddie.

"I'm a genius," Eddie says breathlessly. "Be impressed." Oh, Jay looks so good. And--actually, he looks a little too good, for someone who's been kidnapped by Batman.

“Of course I’m impressed,” Jay says.

“So you didn’t tell him yourself?” Wayne says. 

Eddie has decided they hate Batman even more now that they've met this side of him. He's a lot like Harvey in that way. No wonder they defend each other. "He didn't have to tell me," Eddie says. "And anyway, he didn't have his _phone_." They look at Wayne pointedly. Presumably Jay will defend their life if Wayne attacks.

Wayne shifts his glance from Eddie to Jay.

“Well, I don’t,” says Jay. “Jesus, Bruce, I told you and Dick to do one thing. It’s your fault you didn’t do it.”

“It’s a problem,” Wayne says. 

“I feel like they could’ve figured it out earlier,” says Jay. “They’re not gonna _tell_ anyone. Right?” 

“Jason--” says Wayne.

"I'm not," Eddie cuts in. "And don't talk to him like that. He doesn't have to stay here, now that I found him." It occurs to them that all things being equal, telling Jon where they were going would have been better.

“He’s not a _hostage_ ,” Wayne growls. “But I hate to think where _you’re_ planning to take him.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Jay. “Nobody is kidnapping me anywhere. Bruce, come on. Give me five minutes. Or like, more than that. But at least five.”

Wayne, instead of getting angry like Eddie suggests, softens instead. He just--turns into a little bit of a different person, and then Jay smiles at him like they actually like each other. Then Wayne says, “Fine. Just don’t let him steal the silver.”

Jay laughs. “Don’t listen at the door,” he says, and Wayne waves a dismissive hand on his way out.

"What the fuck?" Eddie says, as soon as the door closes. Jay _isn't_ a hostage. He's not even unhappy to be here. He's playing video games and smiling at Batman.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” says Jay. 

"Okay," Eddie says, "let's start with the obvious. You're not acting like someone who wants to kill Batman." They slide off the edge of the beanbag onto the rug.

“Yeah,” says Jay. He shoots Eddie a furtive look. “We had some time to work things out. It’s not like before, so don’t worry, I’m not like, suddenly Robin or anything.”

Eddie thinks about that, and about the really soft rug they're sitting on. This is a nice place. "Are you staying?" they ask. Their throat feels tight.

“Are you kidding?” says Jay. “Me? Here? That was a fucking disaster the first time, don’t you think? And me now? No way.”

"Okay," Eddie says, trying not to sound embarrassingly relieved. "I wasn't sure! This place is amazing. I mean, if Batman didn't live here. And my place is--not." They look at Jay more closely. "Can you even walk right now?"

“Ugh,” says Jay. “Yeah, with crutches. Bruce is bringing me to PT. Stairs suck.” He grimaces. “The manor has an elevator. My place? Not so much. Although also I never paid rent so it’s probably not my place anymore!”

"Jon's condo is on the first floor," Eddie says without thinking. Then they do stop to think and decide not to regret it anyway.

Jay raises his eyebrows. “Say more,” he says.

"He said I could stay for a while," Eddie says. "And he's ready to beat Batman up to get you back. So…" Those two puzzle pieces slot together nicely in their head. Hopefully in reality, too.

Jay turns a little pink. “Well, if he said it was okay I would be okay with it,” he says. “Still have to get to PT, though, and it’s fucking annoying to get anywhere from Jon’s.”

"He might let me borrow his car," Eddie says. Eddie doesn't technically have a licence, but they're a fine driver, and maye Jon will just say no and offer to drive Jay himself. "I just want to get you out of here."

“I’m okay,” Jay says. “I mean, you don’t have to worry. And I’m coming back.” He bites his lips. “I wouldn’t mind coming back like that. You know, with you and Jon. Penguin’s was okay.”

Eddie hugs Jay again, still not as careful as they should be. "Okay, thank god. We all want you to come back. You can just...forget the Batman revenge thing. I think everybody will be relieved."

“Oh, yeah, I am, I guess,” Jay says. “Yeah, it’s--I don’t need to.”

Eddie doesn't understand, but they do understand that family is complicated for a lot of people, and that's essentially what this is. As long as Jay's coming home. "Are you dropping all the revenge things?" they ask, curious. That would be so much safer.

Jay can hide a lot behind a tough expression, but he’s not wearing a tough expression. “Oh, yeah, I think I’m good,” he says.

"Seriously?" Eddie says. "I mean, no complaints here, but what did Batman _do?_ "

Eddie catches that slip in Jay’s expression even more easily, and Jay says, “We just made up, that’s all,” which is a truly pathetic attempt.

"Jay," Eddie says. They grab Jay's chin so he'll have to meet their eyes. "What about the Joker?"

Jay swallows. “He’s not like me,” he says. “He’s not coming back.”

Eddie lets go of Jay in surprise. "Oh," they say, swallowing hard. "Did you--? No, you didn't. You're not talking like you did." The Joker, they think, is always coming back. Isn't he?

“No,” says Jason. “But he’s gone. And I’m sure.”

Eddie knows that's going to nag at them until they solve it--and it feels like they have all the pieces--but Jay is more important right now. "Okay," Eddie says. "Got it. So when can we go home?"

Jay mulls it over. “Soon,” he says. “I’m going to stay a little longer. I feel like things are different. I don’t want to just leave.” He smiles. “It’s gonna be better for you, too, if I make things good with Bruce first.”

"Yeah, make him promise not to punch me anymore," Eddie says lightly.

“That’s the plan,” Jay says, not like he’s joking. 

"Oh," Eddie says. Everything about Jay makes them ache. They need to tell him that.. "Hey, Jay? In case you didn't know, I love you." They kiss him before he can answer.

Jay gives an embarrassed laugh, but it slips away, and he leans into Eddie’s kiss, and he’s warm, and solid, and he touches Eddie like both of them matter. “Soon,” he says, when he pulls back. “I promise.” He smiles.

The last thing Eddie wants to do is let go, but they want to leave on good note before Batman comes in and yells at them. "Here," they say. "Take your phone, so we can text. And I'll see you really soon."

Jay takes it, and grins, and kisses them again. “Really really soon,” he says. “And maybe…” He trails off. 

"Yeah?" Eddie runs their hand gingerly through Jay's hair.

“Nothing,” says Jay. “Just let me know where I’m moving into.”

"I will," Eddie says. "I'll text you tonight." They stand up. "Okay. I'm going to get out of here before that dog tries to kill me again." They give Jay's hand a last squeeze.

“I love you too,” Jay says back, really quickly.

"Ah," Eddie says. They can feel themself turning red. "Oh, cool, that's really good." They give Jay a huge smile and let themself out. Batman isn't even listening at the door.

“See ya!” Jay yells after them, which is like a new him and an old him all tied up together. It’s all right. They’re going to be all right. 

**JASON**

Jason waits until Eddie has been gone awhile before he grabs his crutches and goes over to the phone by the bed to call down to Alfred. 

“Hey, is Bruce still here?” he asks. “I mean like he didn’t drive off in a rage or something?”

"I'm sure he wouldn't leave the house with our visitor here," Alfred says neutrally. "I'll let him know to come up."

“Great,” says Jason. “I’ll be here.”

He hangs up and goes to the door to let Ace in, because Ace is scratching and wuffling and he usually takes Jason’s side. “Where should we sit, boy?” he asks, thumping Ace’s side. “We’ve gotta be strategic.” It’s fucking annoying that he can’t stand without crutches. He’ll just have to be tough sitting down. He settles on the edge of one of the twin window seats, which he loved as a kid. It makes him feel like he’s backed up by a couple years of good shit. 

Bruce comes in as soon as Jason's settled. "Where's the Riddler?" he asks immediately.

“They’re gone,” says Jason. He scratches behind Ace’s ears and Ace makes a long groaning whine. That’s the spot. 

Bruce's mouth becomes a flat line. "I don't have to tell you how bad this is." He shuts the door behind himself, very carefully. He doesn't sit down.

“They’re not stupid,” Jason says. “That’s kind of their whole thing.”

"Which makes him--them--which makes them extremely dangerous," Bruce says. Jason can see him slow down a little on his warpath when he corrects himself. Jason doesn’t expect it, so it kind of pulls him up short, too.

“Uh--” Jason says. He shakes his head. “No. I mean. They won’t tell anybody who you are. They won’t even tell anybody they know. They don’t want every criminal in Gotham _and_ the cops _and_ the media coming after them. They’d get killed in a week.”

"What a shame," Bruce says drily. "Look, I know you think I don't understand--And I don't. The Riddler isn't someone you want to tie yourself too. And his friends are worse."

Jason’s temper flares at _what a shame_ and _his_ , and he says tightly, “I didn’t have _anything._ And they’re _people_. And I’m _worse._ ”

Bruce doesn't say anything to that. He just gives Jason a long, wounded look. "You don't have to be," he says finally.

Jason says, “Christ, Bruce. You can’t have it both ways. You can’t magically decide things are fine with me, and pretend I never did anything, and then say everyone out there is monsters.”

Bruce rubs his face. "The difference is that you're my responsibility and they aren't."

“No,” says Jason. “They’re mine.” 

Bruce sits on the bed. "You won't change your mind on that." It's not a question. Is Bruce going to throw him out?

“No,” Jason says. “And what else do you want anyway? You want me to come back here? Be Robin again? Pretend nothing ever happened?”

Bruce's face clouds. "No," he says. "No more Robins."

Jason says, “You’re still serious about that? Have you even talked to him?”

"It would be complicated," Bruce says. "Given his family situation."

“What, like bad?” Jason asks. “Ohh--no. Like _good_.”

"Good, and now they know what he's been doing at night," Bruce says. "Contacting him could make things much worse. Better to let him have a chance at normal life."

Jason says, “Bruce--sometimes you’re a rich fucking asshole, you know that?”

"What?" Bruce says.

“You think you have all the fucking answers for everybody, but they’re answers for _you_ ,” Jason says. “Not us. You. And no offense but you don’t always get that right, either.”

Bruce looks at Jason sharply. "Nobody else talks to me like that," he says.

“No kidding,” says Jason.

Bruce sighs and takes one of Jason's pillows, fluffing it up and finally putting it back down. "God damn it, Jay," he says. "I need you around."

Jason blinks--his head is pounding--but just says, “You’re really fucking difficult.” 

"I know," Bruce says. "I'm trying to--Every time I get something right, I get something else wrong. I feel like I can't win with you, and I don't think that's your problem. Can you give me a chance to keep trying?" Bruce isn't yelling or telling Jason this isn't a game.

Not long ago, Jason would have agreed a hundred percent that it’s not his problem, and he wouldn’t even have gotten satisfaction out of Bruce saying so. He just would have been angry at Bruce for trying, and not trying, and everything else.

Now Jason thinks the part where they don’t understand each other comes from both sides. Bruce is still on the hook, but Jason doesn’t hate him for it. 

“I’m never going to be like you,” Jason says. “You’re never going to be like me.”

"I know," Bruce says. "Well--Is that all right?"

“It’s okay with me,” Jason says. “But it’s easy to just say that. It doesn’t mean anything on its own, right?”

"I just need to know what you're asking of me," Bruce says, examining the pillow. "It's been a very strange few weeks."

“Yeah,” says Jason. It’s been a lot of things. It’s hard, because Jason feels like everything he’s done is too much, but also right, and also he can’t take it back. He’s uncomfortably in between. “It’s hard to know what to ask for. I don’t really know what I’m about, right now.”

"We could both think about it," Bruce suggests. "You did just get a concussion, among other things."

Jason says, “Don’t I know it.” He looks seriously at Bruce. “We can’t be okay if you chase them down for knowing, though.”

"I know," Bruce says quickly, almost like he's afraid of Jason being angry. "In all the years I worried about this happening, I never came up with a realistic contingency for when it did. I need to think about that, too. But promise me you'll try to make sure the Riddler doesn't say anything. They're not good at keeping their mouth shut."

Bruce using the right words lights a little hope in Jason’s chest. 

“You’re not wrong,” he says. “I mean, they really try, but. But this one would get them killed, they know that. And we’ll help them not do it.”

"We," Bruce says. "You and Scarecrow?"

Jason feels a spasm of alarm. “I don’t know what you know,” he says. 

"I saw you in that damn patisserie," Bruce says, grimacing.

Jason chokes on a laugh. “Oh my god,” he says. “That was horrible.”

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitches. " _You_ think it was horrible? I've been reliving it ever since. You were just sitting there trying to eat a pastry. Why did I do that?" He laughs, shading his eyes with his hand.

Jason says, “Yeah. So, Jon.”

"You're friends," Bruce says. "Yes?"

“Something like that,” says Jason. “I’m not sure.” He feels a little flushed, which is a problem because Bruce notices things and Jason can’t control his stupid face.

"Oh no," Bruce says. "Not him, too. The Riddler is one thing. _That_ is another."

“They go together,” Jason says. “And I’m not making excuses, I know he’s not a good person. But I’m not that good a person either, and I think we can--” He clears his throat, trying not to be too embarrassed to speak. “--I think we can both be better. Together. Maybe.”

Bruce is silent for a minute. Finally he says, "I don't understand. And I'm probably not going to."

“Yeah,” says Jason. “I don’t really expect you to. If it makes you feel less bad, I think he's just doing his day job right now. Maybe it’ll stick.”

"What day job?" Bruce asks, frowning.

Jason frowns. “You know, therapy?”

"Therapy?" Bruce echoes. "I know when he used to work at Arkham, he tested his toxins on them. That was his idea of therapy."

“Yeah, he does real therapy too, though,” Jason says. “I think his clients really like him. Anyway he was really worried about them after--” But after _what_? They haven’t talked about the bigger Harvey situation. Jason isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. And he doesn’t think Bruce will react well. “--when he couldn’t work for awhile.”

"Oh," Bruce says. He shifts uncomfortably. "You have pieces of the puzzle that I don't have. And it's hard not to fumble and make things worse when that's the case. I certainly made things worse for you, since you came back."

“Yeah,” Jason says. “But we’re getting there, right?” He offers a smile. “They’re like, actual entire people, Bruce. You, too.”

Bruce's expression shuts down. When he says Jason's name, his voice breaks a little. "God damn it," he says. "You've always been much too kind. Let me think about how I can make this work."

Jason smiles uncomfortably. “I’m not that kind,” he says. “I do want to make it work, though.”

Bruce nods. "I wanted to thank you," he says. "Speaking of kindness. You saved Tim's life. Doing that for someone you seemed to hate...I'm grateful."

“I don’t hate him,” Jason says, surprised. “He’s a good kid. I’m just mad _about_ him.”

"I know," Bruce says. "I understand. And you were right. But I've rectified that mistake, as discussed."

Jason shuts his eyes for a necessary second. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not going to work, but okay.”

"That's not yours to worry about it," Bruce says.

Jason really wants to argue. He shouldn’t argue, and it won’t help, and it’s not like he knows Tim. So he doesn’t argue. Still. That doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it.

“Is he okay, anyway?” Jason asks. “I feel like I got him into a tight spot and then left him there.”

"He's safe," Bruce says. "He's home. And he's not badly injured. I think all of those things are not insignificant miracles, given how reckless he was."

“I’m glad he’s all right,” Jason says. “I mean it. I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

Bruce pauses. "I know. I didn't realize that for a long time. When you--ran into us out there. There are a lot of things I think we both could have done differently."

Jason says, “Can we not do that? It doesn’t help anything.”

"Sorry," Bruce says quickly. "You're right. I want a fresh start. If that's even a realistic thing to say, with the amount of history we have."

“Right,” says Jason. “Plenty.”

Bruce looks at him critically. "Hm," he says. "I have some work to do. Can we agree that I'm sometimes an idiot and that you won't leave without telling me you're going?"

Jason bites his lip. “Yeah,” he says. “I wasn’t gonna sneak off. Pretty soon, though. If things work out.”

Bruce looks like he wants to say a lot of things, but he just says, "I understand." He clears his throat.

Jason gets it, but there’s no way to soften the blow out of being a blow. Try too hard and you just end up with Jason staying too long and the fights starting up again. “I’m going to go home,” he says. “I’m not going to be _gone._ ”

Bruce's head snaps up, and he gives Jason a piercing look. "No?" he says. "Good. I wasn't sure. I miss you, Jay. I want to be able to see you."

Jason smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I think it’ll have to be at your place, though.”

"Oh?" Bruce says, smiling back. "The Riddler doesn't want me in their living room?"

“Jesus,” says Jason. “At least you've got that in common.”

"Today was a nightmare," Bruce says, straightfaced. "It's given me a lot to think about." He stands up, patting the pillow one last time. "I want to give you a hug."

“Yeah?” says Jason. “Is there like, paperwork for that? You just sound really formal.” He snaps his fingers at Ace, who looks at him from where he’s lying on the floor with his jowls to the carpet and blinks. 

"Shut up, Jason," Bruce says. He pulls Jason into a hug, avoiding all the places that Jason hurts. He doesn't let go until Jason relaxes against him, and then Jason doesn’t let him. He misses Bruce. He really fucking misses him. He’s a familiar shape, and he smells like home, and he’s Bruce. He’s a mess, but he’s not just a mess, and Jason’s not stupid enough to think that now it’s going to be all easy, but--he feels like he can at least think about having some of the things that he wants. Maybe. If he doesn’t go to prison. 

When Bruce finally lets go, his eyes are wet. "You're always going to be welcome here," he says. "You really are a good kid. The best."

Jason says, “It’s gonna be all right, Bruce. It’s gonna be okay.”

"I trust you," Bruce says. "Well. I'm going to take care of some things. Call me if you get bored."

“I’ll switch to something that has two player mode,” says Jason. “You know, if I need a sidekick.”

Bruce barks out a laugh. "Not in a thousand years," he says, and he lets himself out.


	14. Cleanup

**HARVEY**

The thing Harvey hates most about Arkham, besides the obvious, is that it's boring. It's just him in a cell, flipping his coin and planning how to break out. Sometimes he has a cellmate, and that's less boring. Not this time, though. He's technically on some kind of medical watch, because they shipped him back here as soon as he was well enough to be kicked out of the hospital.

The incandescent rage that's been fueling him for weeks, months is gone. It happens like that. His head's clearer, and he can see where he made mistakes. Mistakes he won't make again. Not to say he won't hurt the same people, but he'll do it better. He thinks of that, and Arkham becomes less boring.

He hasn't been there more than a few days when he gets a visitor.

Oswald doesn’t match the decor; he’s neat and clean and has always been irritatingly sane, and he isn’t afraid of Harvey. He waits for Harvey, patient and pleasant, when Harvey is pulled into the visiting room, and when Harvey sits down across from him, he smiles politely.

“Harvey,” he says. “You seem to be mobile.”

Harvey feels a spike of anger and tamps it down. Getting mad never won him any battles. "I hope you know what you started," he says. "And for what? I didn't know you indulged in pity."

Oswald shrugs. “You’re trouble, Harvey,” he says. “Trouble for them, yes, but trouble for me, too. You’ve gotten out of hand.”

"I'm not the Joker," Harvey says, incredulous. _Out of hand_ , what the hell?

“Really?” says Oswald. “Because I’m fairly certain I saw you trying to kill three birds with one stone.”

Harvey grimaces. "Look, I think I know where I went wrong. I shouldn't have hit Jonathan. But Robin? That's what we do." He does feel bad about Jonathan, not that anyone cares.

Oswald observes him for a few seconds and then says, briskly, “Oh, Harvey.”

"What?" Harvey snaps. He hates being condescended to. That's his job.

“I understand it must be difficult,” Oswald says. “Playing off your instability as some inevitable thing. Fate, I guess you could call it. Knowing underneath that it’s just a weakness you’ve decided to coddle.”

"You are _not_ my judge and jury, and you're sure as hell not my therapist," Harvey snarls. "When I get out of here, you're going to burn. Before anyone else."

“Do you think so?” Oswald says curiously. “I’ve had time that you haven’t had, Harvey, and I have many friends. I try to be constant, you know. I have a business to run, and Gotham is my beloved home. I try to deal with people fairly.”

Harvey slams his fist down on the table, and he's gratified to see the orderlies jump. "I don't know who you think you're trying to protect," he says. "I'm not going to hurt Eddie and Jon. I'm going to make things right with them." He's done it before. It's easy.

Oswald says, “That’s so good to hear. I know it will be hard not to contact them ever again, but perhaps the doctors here can help you with your self-discipline.”

"They don't want that," Harvey spits. "Who else is going to tell Eddie they're _pretty?_ Who else is gonna beat Jon till he comes? They need me. They want me." The rage is back, almost blinding in its clarity.

Oswald is wearing a bland expression between disgust and pity, which is absolutely hateful. “I suppose they have Red Hood for all of that. _If_ it’s what they want. I don’t plan to ask.”

"I was wrong before," Harvey says quietly. "Red Hood is going to be first. Then you."

Oswald smiles faintly. “You misunderstand,” he says. “You’re over, in this town. Even if you break out of Arkham, successfully kill everyone who’s ever been kind to you, successfully kill me--more unlikely--or Red Hood--and he now seems to have powerful friends himself--you’ll be over. The rest of the city will drive you out of here in hours. It’s better, I think, to collect your things quietly and go.”

"You can't do this," Harvey says, in the face of mounting evidence, he realizes. "I _am_ Gotham."

“Do you think so?” says Oswald quizzically. “I don’t think anyone else does.”

Harvey _was_ Gotham. Before his face. Maybe even after, sometimes. But he doesn't have the power he once did, and he doesn't have Oswald's network. He might be able to count on one or two powerful people, but it won't be enough. "You're going to regret helping them," he says.

“Oh, I’m sure any one of them might cause me trouble later,” says Oswald. “In fact, I think it’s likely. But I’m not _only_ helping them. I’m not bound to their whims. Which is a fact you might like to keep in mind, since it’s only Jon’s word that kept me from killing you already.”

"Yeah," Harvey says, deflating. "Yeah, good old Jon."

“You’ve made many mistakes,” Oswald says. “I sympathize. It’s a difficult world out there, and romance can be a terrible thing. But it’s over now. I’m almost jealous; you get a fresh start.”

Harvey doesn't want a fresh start. He wants Jonathan. He even wants Eddie, rather than this. "The Joker and I could probably take you down," he says half-heartedly. He could probably get the Joker working with him long enough for that.

“Maybe,” says Oswald. “If you can find him. No one else can.”

Harvey thinks about that. There have been whispers in Arkham, too. He wasn't sure how much credit to give them, but now...If something's happened to the Joker, that doesn't just mean Harvey's lost a potential ally, it means the tides really are changing.

"I'm leaving Gotham," he says.

Oswald spreads his hands. “What news!” he says. “Well, Harvey. I wish you the best. You can’t imagine that I don’t wish you the best. If you’re ever back in town, I’m sure someone will let me know right away. I would hate to miss you.”

Harvey's rage is back to a simmer, temporarily beaten back. Maybe he'll try his luck in Metropolis when he breaks out of here. "Well, watch Jon and Eddie's backs," he says. "They need it."

Oswald says, “Take care, Harvey.” Then he gets up and leaves.

Harvey sits back against the wall of his cell and plays with his coin. In the end, he didn't even have to flip it to decide he was going. Maybe that's a sign of something good. Even if it's not, he's going. Gotham is all used up for him.

**TIM**

It's been weeks since Pioneer's Bridge, and Tim hasn't heard from _anyone_. No Dick, no Barbara, certainly no Bruce. Maybe he's just fired now and that's it. His Dad is still furious. Dana is furious. He's grounded, and they can't stop looking at him like he's about to smash in a million pieces. He's barely speaking to them, and he keeps slamming doors, which he's never done to them before.

There's a horrible, yawning emptiness that used to be filled by Robin. Tim doesn't know what else he's _for_.

Today, school's just gotten out, and he has an hour and a half to pretend to be at robotics club before he goes home. Instead, he climbs the stairs up on the roof and just sits, arms wrapped around his knees, thinking about nothing.

After a while he switches to thinking about how if he's not Robin, there's no backup plan, and if there's no backup plan, what should he do about that?

He hasn’t reached any firm conclusions when someone comes out of his blind spot, down on the ground. He notices the movement because it’s movement, but also because it’s awkward. The figure stops below him and looks up.

Tim inches closer to the edge of the roof. If he had his binoculars--But he doesn't, Bruce does. For a second he thinks it's Dick.

But it’s not.

“Hey, kid, get down from there,” says Jason, squinting up at him with a shit-eating grin. “You’re gonna get hurt.”

Tim swallows his immediate response, which is _Good_ , and says all in a rush, "Don't go anywhere, don't go, I'll come down."

Jason raises an elbow crutch in acquiescence. 

Tim turns and pelts down the stairs, trying to think thoughts that will keep Jason there. Tim can't let go of any connection to that world, even if it's Jason, who mostly hates him. But Jason saved Tim's life, and now he's here, and smiling, so maybe he doesn't? Tim feels sick with anxiety by the time he runs, full tilt, up to where Jason is still waiting.

Jason says, “You are fast as shit, did you know that?”

"Doesn't, doesn't matter," Tim says panting. "None of it matters. Don't go away." He hadn't even been sure Jason was alive.

Jason eyes him thoughtfully. “I’m not. I came and found you, right?” 

Again, Tim remembers. Jason came and found him again.

"Your leg," Tim says. "Are you okay? That was my fault. You--I--" Tim was so bad and so stupid and he messed up, and Jason saved him, and Jason's still here. What is going on?

“I’m fine,” Jason says good-naturedly. “Mostly wanted to catch up with you. Bruce won’t tell me anything except some stupid bullshit I won’t repeat.”

Tim's stomach flips. Bruce hates him. But maybe Jason doesn't. "Why did you do that?" he asks. "Two-Face was right, you came for me."

Jason looks more serious then, a hint of his anger flickering through. “I didn’t want you to die, that’s why,” he says.

"I was surprised," Tim says. Maybe Bruce would have been happier if Tim had died, but that would be a horrible thing to say to Jason.

Jason laughs. It’s weird—it’s the first time Tim has really been able to connect this person to the Robin he used to idolize. “Yeah,” Jason says. “I guess I would be too.” 

"I'm grateful," Tim says quickly. "Don't think I'm not. You almost died for me." His eyes well up when he says it. Maybe that's why Bruce is so mad?

Jason frowns. “Yeah, but that’s not your fault. Hey, kid—are you all right? I mean, I get it. I just—can I do something?” The last part comes out awkwardly, like it’s not the kind of thing he normally asks.

"I don't think anyone can do anything," Tim says. "He fired me." Dick never came back from being fired, but at least he can still be Nightwing.

“He’s going through a thing,” Jason says. “Unfortunately his things are stupid as shit and he never listens to anybody. Collateral damage. What do _you_ think is going on?”

Tim isn't sure what he expected, but Jason is... different. It's intensely comforting. "I think he fired me because I screwed up and you and I both got hurt," he says. "But I don't think he realizes how much worse taking it all away hurt me."

Jason’s expression softens, just slightly. “I hear you have a real live family,” he says. “How’s that going?”

"They're mad at me too," Tim says. Then, quickly, he adds, "I'm really grateful I have them, though." Right now he's having trouble feeling grateful. They don't trust him at all and they don't want him to have the only thing that matters to him. As if it was even still on the table.

Jason raises his eyebrows, Tim isn’t sure about what part. Jason says, fidgeting on his crutches, “You should just hook up with me. I’m sure everybody would love that.”

"No offense," Tim says, "but I'm not totally sure we have the same priorities. Besides. Bruce says I can't do this."

“Bruce says,” Jason repeats.

Tim flushes. "I know," he says, "but the goal is for him to not hate me." Tim can't imagine what would happen if he went out there without Bruce's permission. "It only worked last time because he was so upset about losing you," Tim says.

Jason says, “He doesn’t hate you. And he even likes me again, so it seems like you’d have to do something pretty insane to get him to hate you ever.”

"Then why won't he answer my calls?" Tim asks. "I've tried every single day."

“Jesus,” says Jason. 

"Sorry," Tim says, not sure who he's sorry to.

“What?” says Jason. “No, I mean he’s being stupid. I mean, he’s probably—he just feels guilty about everything.”

Tim used to think he was good at reading Bruce's feelings, but lately he's not sure. "If he doesn't want me to get hurt, he shouldn't have fired me," he blurts out.

“That’s what I said,” Jason says. “I think the Joker thing fucked him up, kind of. I mean, it’s okay with me, look at what I go around doing. But you’re an honest-to-God good kid.”

"The Joker thing," Tim says. "What thing?"

Jason goes completely blank-faced. “Ohhhh noooo,” he says.

"What?" Tim says. "What?" Bruce will always leave him out of everything,especially now. It makes him want to die.

“No,” says Jason, “no, no, I’m definitely not supposed to tell you that.”

"You can't just leave me out," Tim says sharply. "I need you to tell me." He knows who he sounds like.

“Yeah?” says Jason. He bites his lip. “No. You’re right. It’s too late to treat you like a kid, even if everybody’s trying. Joker’s dead.”

Tim feels dizzy, but there's nothing to grab for. Dead? Really dead? "When?" he asks. Then, more importantly, "How?"

“I didn’t ask for a method,” Jason says. “Just for a cremation.”

"Did-- _Bruce_?" Tim can't believe that.

“You can blame me if you want,” Jason says. “Just don’t hit me until I can fight back.”

"I don't want to hit anyone, I don't think," Tim says. He's a mess of thoughts and feelings. Bruce doesn't kill. But he did. For Jason? What does that change? "When did he do it?" Tim asks. Somehow that feels like it matters.

Jason says, “Sometime between the bridge and when I left the hospital. Couple days in there. He told me at the manor.” 

"Yeah," Tim says. His mind is somewhere else. Bruce was acting so weird at the police station.

Jason says, consideringly, “Maybe you know more than I do.”

"I don't know," Tim says. "But he was off when I saw him. The last time I saw him." The last time Tim ever will see him, probably.

Jason says, “Weird. It’s weird. But, listen, Joker’s gone and Two-Face left town, I’m okay, you’re in one piece. I think everything’s going to be okay.” He smiles in a way that’s probably supposed to be reassuring. “You can always invite Dick over to meet your parents in his uniform. I mean, unless they hate cops.”

"Um, they don't hate cops," Tim says. "But are you listening to yourself? Batman wants me out." And it's Bruce's city, no matter what anybody else thinks. Why is Jason being so weirdly nice?

“Batman doesn’t know what’s good for him,” says Jason. “Don’t give up so easily. Even if you don’t go back to being Robin, it’s your life.”

"I guess you would say that," Tim says. "You don't ever do what Batman wants." And Jason's world hasn't ended.

Jason says, “Yeah, not really.” He sways to and fro, thoughtful. “You’re smart and you want things. You’re gonna be okay.”

Tim chews his lip and looks at Jason. "So, don't jump off a roof?" he says.

“Jesus,” says Jason. “Definitely don’t do that.” 

"I know," Tim says guiltily. "Um, so you think I should keep calling Bruce? Or--?"

“Or don’t for a few days,” Jason says. “He’s like a cat.”

"A cat," Tim says. "Okay. Got it. Um, why are you being so nice? You didn't have to come out here for this."

“I don’t know,” Jason says. “Like, brothers, kind of? That kind of thing? I was worried, after that whole deal. And you know Bruce.”

Tim feels his eyes well up again, totally against his will. "Oh," he says. He'd thought, for weeks now, that everyone had just forgotten about him. But Jason didn't forget. "That's really nice," he says, and his voice wobbles embarrassingly.

“I guess,” says Jason. “Hey, I’ll bug Bruce more. He’s stuck driving me to PT half the time Just, you know. Hang in there. And I’ll give you my number.”

"Really?" Tim says. "I mean, thanks. Thank you." He looks at Jason, trying not to creep him out by radiating desperate hope. "I knew there was a reason I was investigating you."

Jason laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s cuz you thought I’m nice.”

"Well, I do now," Tim says. "Can you give me your number before you forget?" The worst thing he can imagine is losing any way to get in touch with anyone again.

“I’m not gonna forget,” Jason says. “Give.” He sticks a hand out.

Tim nods vigorously and gives Jason his phone. "He can't just totally forget me, right?" he asks. "Even if you're back?"

“He hasn’t forgotten you,” says Jason, typing. “He's just being a drama queen.” Like Jason has never been anything like that in his life. He adds, “if he tries to pin it on me I’ll give him hell.”

Tim doesn't understand how Jason can be so totally confident. "You're--great," he says. "Really. Thanks for finding me. On the bridge and today." The situations feel the same, in most ways.

Jason looks anxious suddenly. “Hey, you’re gonna be all right, right? Not doing anything dumb?”

"Um, no," Tim says. Then, more honestly, "Not now. I feel better."

“Good,” says Jason. “Because nobody would like that. Everyone would be—Jesus. Don’t, okay? Everyone loves you, you’re fucking perfect.”

Tim feels very far from perfect, but he nods anyway. "Thanks for saying that. I'm okay."

“Well, if you’re not, you know.” Jason shrugs awkwardly. “I mean, like, your daddy or someone, but. I’m around. Venting to a fuckup is probably a better option than killing yourself, right?”

Tim winces. He didn't want Jason to say that. "I--Yeah. Yeah, I'll tell someone if I'm not okay." This is so embarrassing and awful, and somehow it's still better than before Jason showed up.

Jason shifts uncomfortably on his crutches--but like he hurts, not like Tim is terrible to be around. “Call me crazy,” he says, “but I feel like we might have stuff to talk about. If you ever want to get together. I’ll buy you--no, fuck that, you definitely have a shitload of money, you can buy _me_ coffee.” He grins at Tim.

Tim can't help it; he smiles back. Jason is _great._ Like an older brother, but a totally different kind from Dick. Tim didn't know that it was something he was missing. "I'm going to text you," he says. "Really soon. Thanks, Jason."

Jason looks pleased and surprised and pink in the cheeks. He’s so different from when Tim met him as Red Hood that it’s almost unbelievable that they’re the same person. 

Jason says, “Yeah. See ya, kid.”

Tim shifts his bag on his shoulders and heads for home, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

**EDDIE**

Weeks later, all three of them sitting at the island in Jon’s spotless kitchen, Eddie can’t completely bring themself to believe that it worked. That not only did it work, but it wasn’t a production. They’d left Bruce Wayne’s big, horrible, really nice house, and cried, and then gone straight to Jon before their courage could run out. They didn’t accidentally tell Jon who Batman is, and Jon didn’t get upset. When Eddie suggested the condo, Jon just raised an eyebrow and said, a little priggishly, “I’m sure that makes more sense than the horrible pits the two of you _normally_ live in.”

So they’re here. 

Eddie pours more and more syrup on their French toast and says, "Jon, can you teach us how to cook?"

“I don’t want to commit to that,” says Jon.

“Good idea,” says Jay. “I’m a lousy cook. I can’t even make Pop-Tarts.”

"I've made Jay lots and lots and lots of ramen," Eddie says. "That's about it. Don't worry, Jon, I'll teach you things, too." Living with Jon again is so soothing and familiar, only without any of the fear that came from being in a house with Harvey.

“If I’ve never succeeded in teaching you before I don’t know how I could teach you now,” says Jon, pushing scrambled eggs into a neat heap before scooping them up with a spoon. “Jay might be teachable.”

“Again,” says Jay, “I wouldn’t count on that.”

Jon looks very grim. 

Eddie tries to ignore a little spike of anxiety. They're both useful adults with good reasons to be kept around. It's important that Jon sees that. "At least I wash the dishes," they say.

“Yes, you’re a very good dishwasher,” says Jon.

“And I beat up punks,” says Jay cheerfully. “Maybe I’d want to learn about scones, though.” He laughs, like the idea is ridiculous but he also kind of means it.

Eddie reaches out and gently puts their foot on top of Jay's. "You do scones and punks, I'll do dishes and...something else productive." They glance at Jon. "What do people who live in the suburbs need? What do you need?"

“Me?” Jon says. “I can’t think of anything. Except jobs. If you don’t get a job, you won’t be able to enjoy good cooking for long, because I will run out of money, and we’ll all be back where you started. One income is not sufficient for a household of three.”

“Ugh,” says Jay. “I never had a job. I don’t want a job.”

 _Household of three._ It feels so natural. "I'm sensing we're not in a 'go back to crime' moment?" Eddie says. They don't want Jon to. They don't think Jay wants to. As far as Eddie knows, he hasn’t gone around doing anything wild since the bridge. In fact he seems a little bewildered all the time. Not unhappy, now that he’s everybody’s pal, but bewildered. Eddie thinks he’s still not quite sure what he’s for. 

They're ambivalent.

Jon looks shifty, then breaks open a scone and slathers it with cream. “I’m occupied,” he says. Jay just gives Eddie a look that Eddie can’t break through at all.

Eddie wants so badly for this tentatively more legally "occupied" Jon to be real and permanent. He's not terrifying and Eddie doesn't have to worry about him all the time.

Eddie looks at the ceiling. "I guess I'll...figure something out?" Their last "legitimate" job was working at a convenience store, probably.

“I’m sure you’ll love going straight,” Jay says. “I’m sure it’s awesome.”

"Nobody is going to hire me with my record," Eddie says cheerfully. They take a bite of french toast and try not to let the little burst of panic show on their face. What if there's not a right solution to any of this?

“You’re overthinking this,” says Jon. “Except for Batman, no one cares what you do. Everyone in Gotham has murdered someone. Except Batman.”

Eddie's eyes dart to Jay. They don't say anything for a second, and then it feels weird not to have said anything so they say, "Good point!" They are never going to successfully keep anything from Jon for long. "But Batman caring is kind of the problem."

“It’ll probably be fine,” says Jay, not convincingly. “But you know what, I have _no_ job skills.”

“Muscles,” says Jon.

Jon has noticed Jay's muscles. That's positive. "You could be a bodyguard," Eddie says. "Oh, you could be a Twitch streamer! You're good at games."

“What....is that?” Jay asks blankly.

"Hm," Eddie says, "Maybe not." They feel the spike of fear they keep trying to ignore. Everything _is_ going to go bad again. It's just a matter of time and how fast they get desperate. They shake off the feeling and smile at Jay. "You basically make money playing video games. Jay's really good at playing video games, Jon." They frown. "Hey, is it weird to call you Jay?"

“No,” Jay says. He picks up a jammy, buttery piece of French toast with his bare hand and bites it. “It’s my name. Or like--”

“A pet name,” says Jon soberly.

"Well, you're our pet now," Eddie says, hoping it doesn't piss Jay off.

“Mm,” says Jon. Jay turns pink and hunkers down over his plate. 

_This is working,_ Eddie thinks. _It's working, and maybe it will keep working without any of us having to say anything about it. In case it doesn't work._ Because last time Eddie and Jon tried anything like this, it most emphatically did not work. Obviously Jay isn't Harvey, but it's making Eddie skittish anyway.

“Hey,” says Jon, very directly. Kind of rudely. He seems to be talking to Eddie.

"Um, yes?" Eddie asks. They sip their juice from their oversized mug and blink at Jon from behind it.

Jon looks ready to scold, and then his expression shifts. Lightly, he says, “I always thought I might like to keep a bird.”

"What?" Eddie says, derailed. Then their brain engages and they say, " _Oh_ ," with delighted horror. "Yeah, a bird is good."

“Come on,” says Jay, but he still looks happy. 

“You come on,” says Jon, sipping his coffee and staring straight ahead. 

Eddie takes a mouthful of juice so they won't say anything else. Jon and Jay are going to make each other so much better than they were separately. And Eddie is already great. This time, they win.

**BRUCE**

Bruce goes back to work, but slowly. He's never taken time off by choice, but caring for Jason doesn't feel like a choice. When Jason's finally well enough to leave (and Bruce knew he would leave), there's a lot Batman's missed. The following months are exhausting, and even harder without a Robin. Bruce is finally feeling as if he's back on top of things when he encounters the Scarecrow.

If he’s being entirely honest this is a meeting of choice. He knows the Scarecrow’s haunts, and the fact that there have been no registered incidents or arrests in the last short while is as concerning as the alternative. Jason, he thinks, would accuse him of another reason for keeping his eyes open, but that’s not the point. The point is that when something is out of place in Gotham, he finds it. So yes, he has made himself a route that would take him past a few key locations. He doesn’t fully expect to catch the Scarecrow with his paw in the cream, arms full of equipment and a bag of syringes over one shoulder.

Bruce drops down behind the Scarecrow--silently, he thinks, but the Scarecrow has always been jumpy, and he whirls around.

Bruce doesn't say anything, he just launches himself at the Scarecrow, sending him crashing back against the wall of the nearest building, equipment flying.

The Scarecrow glances around wildly at his things, and, muffled through his mask, spits, “You had to be back. You had to come back, didn’t you?”

"As long as you're here, I'm here," Bruce snarls. "What are you doing?"

“None of your business,” says the Scarecrow. “I’m not doing it now, anyway, thanks to you.”

"I just want to tell them what to book you for," Bruce says. Truthfully, he's not thinking that far ahead. He's just thinking about an easy, familiar problem with a solution. "Tell me now or I hurt you," he says. That usually works on the Scarecrow.

“Housekeeping,” Scarecrow snaps. “Leave me alone!”

"No," Bruce says. "You don't get to ask for that. You hurt people." He shakes him, trying not to hear Jason in the back of his head, asking him what the hell he's doing. This is still the job.

The Scarecrow writhes to get away, but Bruce is much stronger.

Bruce slams him against the wall again, harder. "What are you doing here?" he shouts.

Scarecrow lets out a sharp noise of fear and pain. “I told you, I told you, leave me alone!”

"Who are you working with?" Bruce presses, grabbing him by the throat. The names it can't be anymore rise up in his mouth. Not the Joker. Not Two-Face.

“I’m not doing anything,” hisses the Scarecrow, clutching at Bruce’s arm. “Fuck off. Leave me alone.”

"Does that seem likely?" Bruce demands. He catches him by the collar and hauls him close. "Look at me when I'm talking to you." Sometimes the Scarecrow responds to threats and sometimes he's completely immovable.

The Scarecrow laughs, mean and shivering. “Do you miss Harvey, Batman?”

That pulls Bruce up short. "What? I--no." Gotham is better without Harvey. But Bruce can't make himself say it.

“That’s _so_ funny,” the Scarecrow says. “You’re just his style. Just the same. You’re just the same as one another.”

"What?" Bruce demands. He shakes the Scarecrow, because he wants to shake himself. What is he doing? Harvey almost killed Tim and Jason. _Not just Tim and Jason_ something unpleasant in the back of his head says.

“Always have to get your hands on people,” Scarecrow mutters, breathing shallowly. “Pretend they’re not people. Attack like an animal, but you think you’re better than us, don’t you?”

"I'm not out here mixing up fear toxin," Bruce snaps. At this point he might typically hit the Scarecrow, because that usually gets results, but now that he sees more of the whole horrifying picture, that option is suddenly gone. Bruce feels sick and helpless. Furious with himself, with the situation, he grabs the bottom corner of Scarecrow's mask and yanks it off.

The Scarecrow yelps, but sucks the sound back in halfway out of his mouth. He looks up at Bruce, who is considerably larger, with a mix of hatred and terror. They stare at one another, Scarecrow shivering against the wall. 

"It doesn't matter, you know," Bruce says, keeping his voice calm now. "Either you tell me what you're doing now or you'll tell them in Ark--" He stops, thinking of Jason. "You should tell me now."

“Arkham?” Scarecrow sneers. “You’re so stupid. Stupid. Anyone will say anything in Arkham.”

"I'm not sending you to Arkham," Bruce says, although that weakens his position considerably. But he needs to talk things through with Jason more before doing that.

“Then you want what!” says Scarecrow. He puts his hands on his face like that’s enough to hide him.

"I want to stop you from hurting anyone tonight," Bruce says sternly. It should be obvious and he should feel good that he's doing it, at least in this moment.

“I’m not hurting anyone!” the Scarecrow snarls. “I’m not doing anything! If you want this stuff you can have it, so have it!”

Bruce can't figure out his game. "What's the trick?" he asks, voice hard. "I know you don't just give up." Later he thinks he'll go back over this conversation in detail and try to understand it better.

“I’m trying to get rid of it!” Scarecrow says shrilly. “That’s all! That’s it! You want to know and now you know! Now go away!”

Bruce pauses. "Explain," he says, still flat, but not loud or angry. "To dispose of the evidence?" But no one's been tracking him down for anything.

“It destabilizes over time,” says Scarecrow, impatience overwhelming the fear in his voice. “It can’t be burned. No one else can dispose of it safely.”

"So this is, what, for the sake of safety?" Bruce asks. "That hasn't been your MO in the past."

“So do it yourself if you don’t believe me! Do it yourself and get poisoned!” Scarecrow snaps. It’s strange to see his face—his real face, if that’s how he thinks of it—contorting with distress. Bruce has always imagined that Scarecrow is like this all the time, and has never blamed himself for a second of the Scarecrow’s fear and viciousness. 

But Jason. Again, Jason. Talking about the Scarecrow under another name, easily, protectively. 

"You do it," Bruce says finally. "But I'll supervise."

The Scarecrow straightens up. “You have to give it back first,” he says.

Bruce nods and steps back, letting the Scarecrow have access to his things. As he's gathering them, Bruce says, "Crane. Do you--? Did the Riddler tell you anything about me?" It's not as if he can do anything either way. But he needs to know how far his identity has spread.

“You can’t call me that, you can’t take my mask, you can’t ask me stupid questions,” Scarecrow mutters, stooping to reach, arms full.

"...Fair," Bruce says, since that's what he's asking for, too.

“So give it _back,_ ” the Scarecrow says furiously, barefaced and shaking.

Bruce shoves the mask at him, angry with himself. This isn't how he wanted this to go. If Jason could see this situation he wouldn't be defending Bruce, that's for sure. Not that Jason is always right, but Bruce isn't trying to hurt the Scarecrow for the sake of hurting him.

The Scarecrow juggles everything under one arm and forces the mask back over his head. As soon as it’s in place, Bruce sees him relax slightly. “The Scarecrow handles the Scarecrow’s business,” he mutters, and bends to pick a last vial off the ground.

Bruce is supposed to be a detective. Because he is that, and not a thug, he thinks for a minute and says, "You mean you're cleaning up your mess." Bruce has to figure out how to do that. Batman's mess is a lot bigger.

“It needs to get done,” says the Scarecrow and a clear sharp voice that Bruce hardly recognizes. “This way. If you have to come with me.”

"I'll come," Bruce says. He believes him, though. Now. He just wants to understand. He follows in silence, then says, "Turning over a new leaf?"

Scarecrow laughs, short and loud. “You’d believe that? You would think that? How many years have you been chasing me around? How many times have you put me in that place.” His voice goes gravelly and hard.

"I'm not saying I believe it," Bruce says sharply. "I'm saying someone told me it. A mutual friend."

Scarecrow sniffs. “You don’t have friends.”

"Red Hood?" Bruce suggests. It feels off to call him that, but Bruce has no idea what name Scarecrow knows him by.

Scarecrow, turning to eye him (presumably), says, “Jay wouldn’t want to talk to you about me.”

"Wrong," Bruce says. "He does, all the time. You and the Riddler. If I never hear another word about them, I'll be happy."

Scarecrow stops. “I see,” he says. Bruce doesn’t know what part he’s responding to. 

"What?" Bruce says. He doesn't want to have a conversation with the Scarecrow. But he can't stop prodding, trying to understand Jason's perspective.

Scarecrow doesn’t answer right away, just keeps walking along, and then he says, “My car is around the corner. You’re going to look very funny.”

"Funnier than this?" Bruce asks.

“In a car,” Scarecrow emphasizes with dignity. 

"I drive a car," Bruce says. "Let's just get this over with. I'll try not to embarrass you."

Scarecrow snorts, but leads the way. He doesn’t ask for help opening the trunk and dumping everything inside. He does unlock all the doors, and climbs in on the driver’s side with the kind of hopeful posture that means he possibly thinks Bruce will go away. He pulls the mask off again and sets it in his lap, and ruffles his hair into place. When Bruce opens the front passenger door, the Scarecrow flinches.

Bruce stands there, frozen. He doesn't, at this moment in time, want to be scaring him. It's not helpful, and it doesn't actually feel good. "Do you--? Should I follow another way?" Bruce asks.

“He’s just like Harvey,” Scarecrow says in a little sing song under his breath. “Although, you wouldn’t, Jay would never speak to you again.”

Bruce gets in, incredibly uncomfortable. He doesn't want to know the pieces he knows, or can guess at. "He's very defensive of you," he says. He doesn't like to hear the Scarecrow using Jason's nickname.

A small smile tucks up the edge of the Scarecrow’s mouth, and something close to a dimple appears on his cheek. He starts the car and says, “Seatbelts or we don’t drive.”

Bruce snorts, but he complies. What is he doing? It's 100% for Jason. A few months ago he never would have considered this. It's unpleasant, though, seeing this side of his enemies. It was awful seeing the Riddler at his house, and not just because he felt unmasked. It was awful trying to reconcile the amount of punching he'd done with the bright, brave young person standing in front of him.

The Scarecrow nods, a few times too many, and takes off. He’s a careful driver. 

When Bruce can't stand the silence anymore, he says, "I approached you the wrong way today." The words stick in his throat, but he says them anyway.

“Normal way,” Scarecrow says, a little catty.

"Yes," Bruce says. "But this time you weren't hurting anyone." He clears his throat. "Jay tells me you're a therapist."

Is it the wrong thing to say? Too far? The Scarecrow looks suddenly, absolutely terrified. 

“No,” he says. “No, I’m not anything.”

"Wait," Bruce says. "I'm not going to _stop_ you. Not unless you hurt someone." Although if he hurts someone, what is Bruce supposed to do? He can't do what he did earlier tonight.

“I need it,” says the Scarecrow. “Please. I’m not hurting anyone.” His hands are too tight on the steering wheel.

Bruce feels cold. It's _true_. This time it's true. "I won't touch it," he says. "I don't--I'm not going to do that."

The Scarecrow swallows, and nods, and stares straight ahead at the road. “Not much farther,” he says. 

"Sorry," Bruce says.

The Scarecrow laughs, a full, anxious sound. “Oh dear,” he says. “I ruined Batman.”

"It wasn't you," Bruce says, "don't worry. Anyway, I'm just sorry about today." Although if he's sorry about today, maybe he should be sorry about all the other days that looked like it. The days that made him look like Harvey. He puts his hand over his face.

The Scarecrow sniffs. “Jay thinks _you_ will turn a leaf,” he says. “He’ll be very upset.”

"I don't want him to be," Bruce says helplessly. "I just can't pretend there are no criminals in Gotham."

“Yes you’ve really made a dent in it,” says Scarecrow immediately, so it takes Bruce a second to realize it’s several jokes.

Bruce groans. "Damn it," he says. "Sorry. Not just for today. I am, I'm sorry. I don't think hitting you in the face made anything better."

“Oh, now,” says the Scarecrow. “It made you feel better, didn’t it?”

"It made me feel like I was doing good for Gotham," Bruce says. "But you're right, nothing's changed."

The Scarecrow makes a noise. “I hope you know how horrible this is,” he says, in a precise way that doesn’t feel like the Scarecrow at all. “For me. This conversation. Now.”

"No," Bruce says. "I mean--I can see it's horrible. I don't fully understand all the reasons why. We can--maybe we should drive quietly."

“I’m not _your_ therapist,” the Scarecrow says severely. 

"Jesus," Bruce says. "I wasn't implying that. I'm just trying to figure out what I can do when you people commit crimes. You know. As an appropriate response." He thought he had a lot of appropriate responses, but lately it hasn't felt that way.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” says the Scarecrow.

"I'll let you know," Bruce says. He chuckles. "I didn't expect this from tonight."

Scarecrow frowns, until he looks like an irritated eagle. 

Bruce goes out on a limb and broaches another topic that might be a mistake. This day can't possibly be stranger and more uncomfortable. "Is it better?" he asks. "Without Two-Face and the Joker in Gotham?"

Scarecrow says, “There’s always someone,” in a precise and nasty way that makes Bruce think it’s a dig at him exactly. 

It's not the first time Bruce has been compared to them. But this time he's trying to listen and understand why. He's not going to talk to the Scarecrow about what a better approach would be. But maybe he should talk to someone else about it.

"Well," he says. "I can't exactly beat up Jason's _friends_ , can I?" It's not just about that. It's about the slow, shivering horror of what it means, beating these people up. They have human faces. They have old injuries. They have jobs.

The Scarecrow says, “Noble.”

"Not really," Bruce says. "Noble would probably be not beating anyone up."

Scarecrow makes a sound of suffering and says, “Please, I beg you. Do not process with me.”

"I'm going to be quiet now," Bruce says, and he subsides into slightly shellshocked silence.

The Scarecrow drives for awhile, so Bruce has time to wonder if he’d said it was close to keep Bruce happy or if he’s going to try to murder Bruce soon. When they stop it’s in a tiny alley between dark buildings in the middle of the city. The Scarecrow says, “In here,” and points to a scuffed metal door, painted some dark color Bruce can’t read in this light. “Don’t worry,” the Scarecrow adds ineffectually.

"Mm," Bruce says. "I'm not worried." He is, after all, pretty heavily armed with things he could use to defend himself. "You first," he says.

The Scarecrow lets out a little audible breath, then gets out to unlock the door. As the door swings open, he picks his way back over to the trunk and starts unloading his gear into his arms.

Bruce almost offers to take some of it--it's a lot to carry--but he knows the Scarecrow is particular about his things, and for good reason. Bruce doesn't want a faceful of chemicals. "I'll get the door," he says.

The Scarecrow responds with a grunt. Bruce holds the door open, and the Scarecrow brushes past him. He lurches to one side to nudge a light switch with his elbow--it’s a lab, Bruce sees, albeit a low budget, low tech lab--and dumps everything in his arms onto a table. On the floor is a neatly piled stack of boxes, each with a word written on the side. They look familiar for the few seconds before he places them as street names. 

"You are cleaning up," Bruce says quietly. "Why?"

The Scarecrow says, “If you neutralize it like this it becomes a completely harmless liquid. You can pour it down the drain. Take the rest to the dump.”

"I meant--why do that?" Bruce waves his hand at the whole place. "Why be a therapist? Why didn't you do this years ago?"

“I thought you didn’t like to know about us,” the Scarecrow says.

"Today I do," Bruce says, absolutely feeling like the bad guy.

The Scarecrow works for a few minutes, looking only at what his hands are doing, showing no sign of answering, or attacking, or doing anything bizarre or criminal. Well--this setup is probably, technically criminal. But Bruce isn’t going to call the cops on him for--what did he call it?-- _housekeeping_.

Just when Bruce thinks he’s going to have to come up with another thing to say, the Scarecrow says, “It is better. Gotham. Without Harvey.”

"Ah," Bruce says. "I'm--glad." He doesn't know what interactions between his enemies look like behind closed doors when he's not around. But that statement stays with him, rattling around his head and worrying him. "I can't take credit for that one," he says, which is already saying too much. He's been too honest with them lately, but so have they.

The Scarecrow says, “I know that. You shouldn’t worry about the rest of it.”

"Why not?" Bruce says. He is nothing but worried today.

“Nobody likes the Joker,” the Scarecrow says. “Except Harley. Stupid girl.”

Another person who will surely be gunning for Bruce, more so than usual. Has word really gotten around about what happened to the Joker? Jason isn't secretive, that's for certain, and everyone knows the Riddler spreads information. That makes him think of something. "Is the Riddler upset?" he asks. "About the Joker?"

The Scarecrow turns around and skewers him with a deeply incredulous look. “Why would _Eddie_ be upset about the _Joker_?” he says.

"They seemed close," Bruce says. "They worked together." Another piece he seems to have missed. Maybe several pieces.

“Eddie is a people pleaser,” says the Scarecrow, with a peculiar bluntness. “Eddie hates the Joker.”

"Oh," Bruce says. "And you hated Harvey."

The expression slips off of the Scarecrow’s face and leaves him pale. “Never mind about Harvey,” he says, and his voice is jagged. Scarecrow voice. What Bruce keeps expecting, except it hasn’t been there. “Harvey is gone.”

"I should go," Bruce says, beyond uncomfortable. "I shouldn't have--you're afraid of me, and I'm upsetting you." Normally that's what he wants. But who the hell wants something like that? He wishes the Scarecrow would put his mask back on.

“Well, if you’re sure I’m not doing anything _objectionable_ ,” says the Scarecrow. Bruce shouldn’t have brought up Harvey. Dick told him. _Jason_ told him. He doesn’t know what he expected. 

"I'm sorry," Bruce says again, for the third time ever, to the Scarecrow. "I didn't handle this well." A part of him wishes wildly, irrationally, that they could be having this conversation with no masks at _all_. But that's insane. Impossible. Bruce needs to be Batman to make any of this work.

“Well,” says the Scarecrow, and halts there, like they’ve reached the end of their mutual capacity for conversation just a few words too early.

"Good luck with your housekeeping," Bruce says. And he lets himself out. It's a long walk back to where he left the car, so he takes the rooftops, swinging between them and trying hard not to feel sick and guilty over people he barely knows.


	15. Phase Shift

**JASON**

Jon comes home at three and wakes up Jason, not on purpose, but knocking something over in the kitchen. Eddie stays asleep, and Jason leaves them that way, tucking the covers in around them before he goes down the carpeted steps and knocks on the wall to let Jon know he’s coming.

It takes awhile to get a story out of him, but once he does, Jason’s pissed off and Jon isn’t any less spooked. He heads upstairs when Jon does and pretends to go back to bed, but really he just lies still and vibrates with the need to get in a fight. Bruce is such a fucking idiot. 

In the morning everyone has breakfast, all in bad moods for different reasons that nobody’s sharing, and Jason says, “I’ve got an errand, let’s see a movie at four.” The other two don’t expect that, which lightens the mood a little. Good. 

Jason doesn’t text ahead, just shows up at the manor and breaks in. It sets the alarms off, but that’s what Jason wants. It’s obnoxious, and he feels obnoxious. 

Bruce is downstairs in less than a minute. He's wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, but he looks wide awake. When he sees Jason, he frowns deeply.

"It's you," he says. "Hold that thought." He disables the alarms with a panel on the wall, sends a text--probably to Alfred--and says, "Is something the matter?"

“You tell me,” says Jason aggressively. He had a few thoughts for how to start this off, but that’s what comes out, so that’s how it is.

"I think I know what this is about," Bruce says. "Let's turn some lights on." He motions Jason to follow him, but he doesn't turn his back.

Before Jason answers, Ace bounds up, huffing and glancing around, but he sees already that it’s only Jason and doesn’t growl or bark.

“Hey, bud,” says Jason, and lets Ace stick his wet face into Jason’s palm. “I’m not going in the cave,” he adds. 

"I wasn't suggesting that," Bruce says quickly. "But maybe the study. I just don't want to wake Alfred again." Now he does turn to lead Jason down the hall. As if Jason doesn't know where things are.

He doesn’t want to end up sitting across from Bruce at his desk like a troublemaking kid in the principal’s office, so he cuts around him and says, “I have a better idea,” and heads straight to the billiards room. Bruce never goes there, and it was one of Bruce’s father’s favorite rooms--oak panels, warm lights, brown leather chairs that were soft with use. As far as Jason knows, everything is pretty much the same as when Bruce’s parents died. It’s mean of him, but he’s pissed off, and Bruce is trying to gain the upper hand. 

Bruce doesn't say anything, but he changes course. Jason can tell he's unhappy. He turns on the lights as soon as they're in the room, but he doesn't sit. "All right," he says, closing the door after Jason. "I know you're angry."

“Say what for,” Jason says, crossing his arms. Ace butts against his hip.

Bruce deflates a little and takes a seat. "All right. I followed Crane. I--took his mask. I assume he came to you about it."

“Nope,” says Jason. “He came _home_ and didn’t say anything about it.”

"Ah," Bruce says. "Right. Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have followed him. I shouldn't have attacked him. I misread the situation, and even so…"

Jason doesn’t expect the apology, and it softens him a little bit, but he doesn’t let himself get distracted. 

“Even so, you figured you were wrong and still had to fucking terrorize him?” says Jason. “I thought you understood. We _talked_. I was starting to _trust_ you.”

In the low light, Jason thinks he sees Bruce turn slightly pink. "I know," Bruce says. "I made a mistake. Several mistakes."

“What, like getting in his fucking car?” Jason says, and the accusation starts out chill and ends rough, because just like that, he’s actually furious.

Bruce is silent for a minute. Then he says, "That's the part you object to? I was making sure that his supplies reached their destination. I don't think it was unreasonable."

Jason stares at him. He says, “Don’t be stupid, Bruce. Getting into a fucking car with someone who knows you’re going to hurt them and making them go somewhere is fucking kidnapping.”

"I wasn't--" Bruce rubs his face. "I'm still operating by Batman rules. This is an adjustment. I'm sorry." There it is again.

“Your rules suck,” says Jason. “And my rules suck, too, and I’m--I’m working on that, I guess. If I can even get out. But I don’t think you even get how fucking scary you are. I know that’s what you _want_ , but I don’t think you get what it’s _like_.”

Another silence. "You're right," Bruce says. "Mostly. I've felt powerless like that, but I know it's not the same. And--scaring people isn't working. Gotham is still just as bad as it was when I started."

“Gotham is the best city in the world,” says Jason. “But yeah, it’s got problems. And no offense, but when did having one more cop ever fix the shit that makes things be like this?” 

"I'm not a--all right, point taken." Bruce says, sighing. "I have all this power, right here, like this. I think I've put myself into the system as a lever in the wrong place."

Jason says, “Wait...really?”

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Bruce says. "Not just because of Crane, or because of you. It's a lot of things. But this...is not working. It hasn't worked for a while." He glances up at Jason, almost as if waiting for confirmation.

“Shit,” says Jason. “I must be better at yelling than I thought.”

"Believe me, you're very good at it," Bruce says. "I don't know what I'm going to do next, but believe me when I say things are going to change I just need to understand what Gotham needs." He rubs his chin. "I thought I did before."

“Yeah,” says Jason. “Me too. Maybe both of us were doing what we felt, instead.” He squeezes his hands together. “Not that I think anyone I took out didn’t deserve it, but. It’s not. I don’t feel...good.” He feels scared, actually, that he’s walked himself into a trap and changing anything about his life is going to end it. He doesn’t really want to talk about that.

"Maybe we should both try again," Bruce says. He clears his throat. "With some input from the people who actually have to live with our decisions."

Jason bites his lip. There are a couple big things sitting on his tongue, and he doesn’t know what he wants to let out. He says, “Yeah. Because neither of our judgment is great.”

"Fair," Bruce says. "I can take criticism." He reaches his hand out across the space between them, then drops it, rubbing the back of his neck instead.

Jay doesn’t want to betray anybody’s trust, but it feels important to make sure Bruce gets this, while he’s miraculously listening.

“Like Harvey,” he says. 

"...Meaning what?" Bruce says. Jason can see his expression shut down.

“You went easy on him,” says Jason. “Because you know who he is.”

"Because I know what he could be," Bruce says. "He's not all bad all the time." He doesn't look at Jason when he says this.

“He’s a fucking abusive piece of shit,” Jason says. “He’s bad all the time.”

Bruce doesn't say anything, which is better than if he started arguing, but still not great.

“What,” says Jason. “You don’t believe me? You don’t want to? You don’t want to think about how you hit people who are already getting hit at home?”

"No!" Bruce snaps. "God, no, of course I don't want to think about that! And no, it's not a surprise. Damn it."

“Harvey got in Jon’s car,” says Jason. He weighs the options one last time. Jon would be so fucking angry. Bruce needs to understand. “Harvey almost killed him.”

There's a barely audible intake of breath. Then Bruce just says, "I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I won't be making it again." It's not clear if he's just referring to the car.

“It’s not like I have answers,” Jason says. “I don’t even have a point, I guess. I don’t know what to do about me, or what you should do or anything. I just wanted you to know about them. You know. Keep them safe.”

"You've always been so fiercely loyal," Bruce says. He smiles at Jason. "Give me some time to figure out what I'm doing next, and maybe that will inform what you do. There are a lot of ways to make things better, I hear. And you and your friends, at least, have a pretty good idea of what needs fixing."

“Yeah,” says Jason. “Maybe.” That fear tugs at him again. “I don’t really know what we can do, though. I mean, any of us. But if I try to turn things around, the only fair thing would be me ending up in prison for life. Right?” 

"Fair by whose standards?" Bruce asks. "Since when are you so concerned with the law? You're telling me your friends need help, not violence. That they need medicine, hospitals, schools, maybe. Jail is a broken system, too. Nobody said you had to buy into it."

“Maybe,” says Jason. “I mean, I don’t want to.” He doesn’t even completely think he was wrong. “I don’t know how to stay out without staying invisible, though. Maybe we all just have to stay invisible.”

"Think about if that's what you want," Bruce says. "Because I can probably fix that, too." He gives Jason an embarrassed grimace.

Jason feels almost a sick jolt. “Really?” he says. “Your principles, and everything.”

"I'm trying…" Bruce leans forward over his knees. "I want to make things _right_. Actually right. If I was prepared to be a vigilante, I might be prepared to bend other laws. If that's my new approach. And it doesn't seem fair to offer people a fresh start and not give them the means to achieve it."

Jason says, “Shit. I don’t even know what I would do with that.” He laughs, a little panicked.

"Maybe don't decide right now," Bruce says. "Do you want a drink? Cocoa or something?"

Jason smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure. Yeah. Uh, did you just--?” Quit being Batman? That sounds nuts. 

"Things need to change," Bruce says. "Batman isn't accomplishing what I wanted." He looks at Jason sideways. "Don't think I won't go back to my room later and have a minor breakdown over this idea."

“Fuck me,” says Jason. “Okay. I won’t say anything to anybody.” He doesn’t plan to tell anybody he was even here.

"I'll let you know when I'm sure about exactly what I'm going to do," Bruce says "Come on. Cocoa."

Jason comes with him, and in the hallways, bumps Bruce’s arm with a light fist. It might all still be fucked up, but at least this went right.

**SELINA**

Selina usually lets her meetings with Bruce take place by accident; or at least if they’re on purpose it’s with plausible deniability. But this time Bruce asks for her up front, and she says yes because he’s been off the streets for over a month and she has no idea what he’s doing. And that seems like it’s the tip of the Gotham iceberg, just now. And she doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on.

Bruce is waiting at the restaurant, looking altogether his usual slick, expensive civilian self. Selina kisses his cheek and takes her seat, and congratulates herself on choosing long sleeves, because this place is cold. Probably run by a man, who assumes everyone who matters is fully covered at all times.

“Bruce,” she says. “It’s been awhile. I wondered if we’d broken up and you forgot to tell me about it.”

He laughs--uncomfortably, as always when he's not ready for that kind of joke. "Would you believe me if I said I'd just been working a lot of late nights?"

“If you were, people wouldn’t be so on edge,” Selina says. “They may not like you but at least they know the game.”

"Maybe the game is changing," Bruce says. He takes a sip of his water and frowns down at the table. "I have been working. Just--not out there."

“What does that mean?” Selina says. “And what’s been going on? I hear things, but by the time they get to me, I think some of it’s a little mixed up.”

"That's why I wanted to see you," Bruce says. "I wanted to set the record straight. And maybe get your advice." He lowers his voice and says, "Some things have come to light--I have a plan. But I wanted your opinion first."

“What does that mean?” Selina asks. “Isn’t this kind of a crazy place to be talking about...this?”

"That's why I chose a corner table," Bruce says, but he's being awfully cavalier about it. "Anyway, there is no other place. As I said, I haven't been going out." He picks up his water glass and sets it down. "Scarecrow and Riddler. What do you think about them?"

Selina fights the urge to roll her eyes. “I’d rather avoid both of them,” she says. “Too unstable. I wouldn’t depend on either one in a tight spot. Or any spot. Or do you mean do I like them as people?”

"I mean...." Bruce unfolds and refolds his napkin. Something's really bothering him. "Do you think they deserve Batman beating them up and throwing them in Arkham all the time?"

Selina has an immediate answer, but she tries to be fair. “Scarecrow belongs in an asylum,” she says. “Riddler probably just needs therapy. Arkham is a nasty place, so if you’re asking, is it helpful to _them_ , definitely not. Do they deserve it? Maybe.” She hesitates. She doesn’t like to bring up the unspoken pact between them--that’s what makes it unspoken--but he’s being strange. “He doesn’t give them much benefit of the doubt. Usually.”

"No," Bruce says. He looks up at her. "But he does give some people that benefit, as I'm sure you're aware. I'm just--reevaluating a lot of things." He clears his throat. "A friend of mine is dating them. It's given me perspective I didn't have."

Selina nearly drops her glass of water. “ _Dating_ them? That sounds like a nightmare. What friend?”

Bruce frowns into his water. "Jason," he says.

Selina catches her breath. “It’s really him?” she says. “God. You’re burying the lede, Bruce.”

"I know," Bruce says. "There's been a lot going on. I don't know where to start. He's alive. He's--with the two of them. He and Tim both nearly died. I--I did something, I--" He puts down his water, breathing fast. "Sorry."

“Bruce,” says Selina, alarmed. She touches his hand, and he’s shaking. She hasn’t seen him like this since Jason _died._ Which happened, didn’t it? Or didn’t it? “You should have come to my place,” she says. “I could cover you in cats and make you something stiff.”

"I should have," Bruce says. "But you told me to stop coming to you just when I have problems." He gives her a sideways smile. "Things have been a little overwhelming."

“I appreciate your efforts,” says Selina. “But holding off and dumping it all on me later isn’t really better. What did you do? Do I want to know?”

Bruce leans across the table. He doesn't look at her when he says it. "I killed the Joker."

Selina pulls her hand away. “You--Bruce, you did not.”

Bruce looks completely wretched. "I had to," he says. "I'm sorry."

“That goes against everything you believe,” Selina says. So the Joker has been quiet even longer than Bruce. So Harley Quinn has been running around saying he’s dead, and then that he’s fine and coming back (to the tune of hysteria), and then, no, that he’s been in Gotham the whole time and he never left her (to the tune of delusion, or maybe desperation). Rumors have been flying. But Bruce would never.

"Maybe everything I believe is wrong," Bruce says quietly. "He murdered Jason. He murdered a lot of people."

Selina remembers what it was like when Jason died. She’d worried about Bruce, and no amount of worry had been enough. For a while, the whole underworld had waited with its breath held, unsure of what he’d do--if he’d snap, or die, or disappear. Selina had thought the question was answered when the new Robin turned up, and Batman came back to life.

She’d thought that. But now he’s killed the Joker.

“I know that,” she says. “But you’ve never been the executioner.”

"It was what Jason needed," he says. "It was what Gotham needed. And now--Maybe it doesn't need me at all."

Selina feels dizzy. She takes a sip of water and tries not to be uneasy, here, with Bruce of all people. Bruce has never frightened her. She wants to step outside and call someone who can sort her feelings out for her, because this, to be blunt, is beyond her pay grade. 

“What did you do?” she says. “I’m sure he didn’t expect it.”

"Nobody else asked me that," Bruce says.

“If I was everybody else, you wouldn’t need me,” Selina says.

Bruce sighs. "I know that. All right. I threw him off one of the rides at the old abandoned carnival."

“You’re sure that took?” Selina says. She feels queasy, imagining how it might take.

"Yes," Bruce says shortly. "I checked. I took precautions. And I buried him."

“God,” says Selina.

"It was horrible." Bruce clears his throat. "It was necessary. It's making Gotham safer. Not just because he's not killing people. The removal of the Joker and Two-Face...it's creating space for other changes."

“What did you do to Two-Face?” Selina asks, feeling even more unpleasantly surprised. She’s heard about that, too, but only that the Penguin’s blacklisted him and he hasn’t been seen in Gotham since.

"Absolutely nothing," Bruce says. "He chose to leave." He hesitates. "My understanding is that even for people on the wrong side of the law, there are certain things you don't do, and he did them."

“I see,” says Selina. “All right. Well, I can’t say I miss him. I couldn’t stand his attitude.” He was a classic, in his way, and his way was bad. “So. What are you saying? What do you think you’re going to change?”

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Bruce says. He stops playing with his fork and looks at her, clear-eyed. "Batman is retiring."

Selina looks around discreetly for their server, then says, “I’m not trying to diminish what you’re telling me, Bruce, but are you all right? Physically? Mentally?”

Bruce sighs. "I know this doesn't sound like me. But a lot's happened recently. I've had a lot of long talks with Jason. Some of the perspective I've gotten...I don't want to make things worse. And I think I worried about doing that in bigger ways, and maybe I missed the little ways in which it was true. If I really think my enemies are insane, I shouldn't be beating them up." He takes a sip of water. "The Joker was an unstoppable serial killer. Some of them are just struggling with a system I've always known was broken."

Selina doesn’t love this line of conversation, because she’s always been aware of her own position. She doesn’t hurt people, aside from their wallets and pride. She’s white, good-looking, and a great conversationalist. She’s built herself a reputation for being both Batman’s and Bruce Wayne’s kind of people. She’s one of the few gaps in his armor, and as much as she cares about him, she’s always been aware of both the hypocrisy and the risk. 

She says, “Well. They don’t make it easy, do they.”

"No," Bruce says. "But that's not an excuse. I--Jason is one of them now. And he's not letting me ignore what that really means." He laughs, improbably. "Like I said. He's dating them. And he's asking me to take a harder look at what Gotham needs."

“No Batman?” Selina says.

"No," Bruce says. "I think it needs Bruce Wayne now."

“So how is Batman going out?” Selina asks, and she thinks she sounds calm. “Are you going to disappear him? Bury him like the Joker? Believe me, everyone has noticed he’s been off the streets.” And it’s been messy. She should bring that up before Bruce does something drastic.

"Mm," Bruce says. "I have an idea. Batman's scope is--limited. If the endpoint is what happened with the Joker and the midpoint is hitting people with severe mental health issues who want to do better, that's not really acceptable."

“That makes sense,” says Selina, “although I really think those are outliers. You could just not hit _them_.”

"Does hitting _anyone_ make them stop committing crimes?" Bruce asks. The corner of his mouth turns up. "The evidence says no. Selina, what I'm doing isn't working. Right or wrong, it isn't making a dent. I need to try something new."

“Okay,” Selina says. “I support that. Be careful about how you retire Batman, though. You might have big ideals, but down there, people are seeing big opportunities.”

Bruce focuses on her abruptly; no more fidgeting with his glass or fork. His eyes are very sharp and very blue. "What if I take Batman public?" he says.

“Bruce,” she says. “ _Bruce.”_

"I know," Bruce says. "You probably think I've lost my mind. But then I can take Batman off the streets and all of the people I used to fight will know I'm still there, and still very much watching Gotham. If they know who I am--who Bruce Wayne is--they'll know Batman isn't really gone."

“You’re crazy,” she says. “I mean--crazy.”

"Probably," Bruce says. "What do you want me to do with that information?"

Selina says, “People are going to try to kill you.”

"People do that anyway," Bruce says. "I'm not saying I won't defend myself. But I get attacked at home by people who are just after Bruce Wayne anyway." He looks thoughtful. "I could use some of the technology in the Cave to improve my security system."

“You are going to need a really good PR team,” Selina says. “Elusive playboy billionaire comes out as a famous vigilante, announces plan to reform Gotham, militarizes personal mansion? Don’t delude yourself about how that could go over.”

"I thought it might be an interesting new challenge," Bruce says. "You know, really _being_ Batman when I'm being Bruce, instead of pretending to be someone I'm not. It's exciting."

“Well,” says Selina, raising an eyebrow. “I can tell I won’t stop you.”

"Are you telling me you want to?"

“I wouldn’t dare,” says Selina, not quite honestly. “But think hard. You could put your kids in danger.” She doesn’t usually refer to them that way, but she’s not sure he’ll listen otherwise. 

Bruce frowns. "In more danger than what they do now? Selina, really. Anyway. Tim is...out of the picture. Dick and Barbara have plenty of danger in the other parts of their lives, and I wouldn't do this without talking to them. Right now there's mostly just...me."

“You know perfectly well that anonymity is safety,” she says briskly. “Don’t pretend it’s not. Don’t bully them into agreeing with you. You’re my friend, not them, but I wouldn’t like you very much if you ruined their lives to feel big.”

"Don't," Bruce says sharply. "Don't think I haven't thought about that. But Barbara's been hurt much worse by being Jim Gordon's daughter. And Dick's a _police officer_. I think they understand risk."

Selina raises an eyebrow. “If you didn’t want me to question you, you shouldn’t have called,” she says. “I think I’m the only person in your life who has perspective, sometimes.”

Bruce nods. "No, I appreciate it." He pauses on that pleasant note as their food finally arrives. When the server is gone, he says, "It's mostly Dick who'd be at risk. He's the one who could be connected to me most easily. And Jason, but that's--different."

“How?” Selina asks, picking her food apart with knife and fork. Roast chicken in lemon cream sauce. Mm.

"Nobody's thinks he's on my side," Bruce says. "And most people think he's dead. Besides, some of the people who have it out for Batman are _friends_ with him."

“Is he going to stay dead?” Selina asks. “I’m not saying that I would. But it has advantages.” Especially for someone who’s been shooting up half the Gotham underworld.

“I'm helping him with the paperwork," Bruce says. "A social security number and all of those things. But I don't think he's in any danger from the people who want to kill me. No more so than he already would be. And he's been very free with his real name." He smiles suddenly and inexplicably. "So maybe my being revealed is somewhat inevitable."

Selina takes a bite--oh, that’s good--and says, “His _whole name_? He always was the--” And then she puts some asparagus in her mouth, very quickly, because Bruce is touchy and was even before Jason died. “I know you’ll do what you want, but I hope for both your sakes you’re considering inventing someone new instead of bringing back the dead. You’re not the only one with enemies.”

"We're working together on the plan that makes the most sense," Bruce says calmly.

Selina has just said what makes the most sense, but she’s not going to push. She’s not interested in having an argument. If Jason Todd is going to get himself killed a second time, spoiling dinner just now isn’t going to stop it.

"Anyway," Bruce says, "I should be honest--part of this is driven by the fact that the Riddler figured out who I am."

Selina gives herself a moment to absorb that. “You’re really holding out,” she says. 

Bruce sighs heavily and takes a bite. "Mm. It's embarrassing to admit. I had Jason at the house. Recovering from an incident with Two-Face. The Riddler wanted to see him. I didn't want that. You can imagine the rest."

Selina is separate from a lot of what goes on down here, but she does hear things. Especially once Oswald enters the picture. She fits this information into what she already knows. 

“They’re smart,” she says. “And you’re dangerous. They must have been really worried, to risk it.”

"Yes," Bruce says. "Jason inspires that kind of response."

Selina skirts right around that to say, “Well then, you might as well announce yourself. If Eddie knows and he and Jonathan Crane are back together, then Crane knows, too. Eddie can’t keep their mouth shut and Crane wouldn’t know if he had. Not that he wouldn’t spread it around on purpose.” 

"Mm," Bruce says, getting that infuriatingly secretive look. "Maybe. Probably. Anyway, you're right. One way or another. It's going to come out. So rather than trying to keep a lid on something I can't control, I'm going to do this on my terms." He looks almost smug.

Selina reaches for her glass, but instead of picking it up she lets the cold condensation run down onto her fingertips for a moment. 

“Bruce,” she says. “You only ever believed in Batman."

Bruce sobers. "Yes," he says. "Time for that to change."

Selina says, as much to buy herself time to think, as anything else, “There aren’t a lot of good billionaires. One might say, any.”

"It's a start," Bruce says, a little defensive. "I'm sure you and Jason will both tell me when I'm getting it wrong. Actually, I think you two would get along well. He's really grown up since he came back.”

Selina is not touching that one. 

“Bruce,” she says. “I care about you. But I won’t be much help to you after this.”

"I know," Bruce says. "But I still want--We're still friends?"

“I’ll see you at functions,” she says. “And maybe once things are settled.” Which could be years, or never. “But for me, privacy isn’t an optional commodity.”

"I don't know how you can think I'd take your privacy lightly, after all these years," Bruce says.

“I’m not worried about what you’d take,” says Selina. “Not on purpose, anyway. But this is going to change everything. And I love you, Bruce, but I won’t suffer for it.”

Bruce nods. "I should have known you'd say that. You're always...yourself. I don't blame you."

“Oh, I’m the stubborn one?” she says. “Let’s not start. This might be our last intimate dinner, and it would be awful to waste it.” It would be awful. It would also be awful for Selina to get more emotional now, in this moment, than she has in the entire course of their relationship. So she smiles, and tips her glass towards him without picking it up off the table.

"Yes," Bruce says. "And I know I can't get it right for everyone. I'm sorry you were someone I couldn't get it right for." He almost never says he's sorry.

She says, “Well, now. You’re always yourself.” 

"Maybe," Bruce says. "I guess we'll find out. He brightens a little. "Well, I shouldn't let this get cold." He prods his steak. "It's perfect." He raises his glass to her. "Hey. Selina. To you."

There--it does hurt. She smiles through that and raises her glass in turn, and when they touch, the clink between them feels like the end of something.

“To your crazy ideas,” she says. “You’ve always made them work.”


	16. Blossom and Home

**JON**

Jon has been home for three weeks. The house is a different shape than before, because there are people in it all the time and because they’ve cleaned things up but parts of the condo still feel like threats. Jon can still feel blood slipping against his hand when he touches the counters, and Harvey could come out of the walls at any time. 

It would be nice if having all three of them here made a difference, but it didn’t on the bridge and it might not here, either. His concerns are reasonable. Eddie would try to downplay them, though, because they do that when they’re nervous. Jon doesn’t want to be soothed. He wants the problem to go away. And of course, it’s completely his fault that Harvey could come back. That’s another reason not to bring anything up to Eddie. 

Eddie and Jay live in Jon’s spare room, across the landing and six feet down a short, carpeted hall in the upstairs. It was the home office, but Jon has moved things around. He isn’t a fan of the cramp created by putting his desk in his bedroom. The rest of it is fine. He likes to have them here. He likes the space he gets back, when they shut themselves on the other side of a door he no longer goes through.

It’s not difficult, which he’d expected it to be. In fact, he likes things as they are now. He does try to keep in mind that soon, Jay and Eddie will leave. It’s good to keep in mind. By then, Jon will be back at his office, and there will be plenty to do. So it all works out.

Jon isn’t thinking about any of this when Jay drops down heavily on the couch next to him. Jon is reading. He doesn’t look up, although he does stop reading, and says, “Excuse me.”

"Hey," Jay says. He goes to put his feet up on the coffee table and then immediately retracts them. He's learning. "What do you think about dogs?"

“I like dogs,” says Jonathan. He remembers a past conversation, and narrows his eyes. “You know I like dogs. What do you want?”

"What do you think about going to see some dogs?" Jay asks. "Just to look at. You know, see what kind of dogs there are."

Jonathan lowers his book into his lap. “In a park?” he says. “On the street? I have neighbors with dogs, would you like me to knock on their doors for you?”

Jay laughs, undeterred. "No, come on, at the shelter."

Jon says, “Oh.” He works his mind around that. “Now? The two of us?” Eddie is out. 

"Right, that's the plan," Jay says. "They hate dogs. Bringing them to the shelter would just be mean. But you don't. And I'd rather have somebody along to talk about which dogs are the best."

“So no one is getting a dog,” Jonathan says, to be clear.

"Not today," Jay says. "Just...looking. Maybe if we see one that seems pretty harmless, we could tell Eddie about it."

“Of course,” says Jonathan. “Well, if you want to look at dogs...I should probably drive you. The better shelter is open until four.”

Jay brightens up even more at this. "Oh--no kidding? I'll trust your judgment. Clearly a dog expert. Let's go! I'm ready now."

Jonathan puts the book down--he’s read it a number of times, so there’s no suspense--and gets up. “Come on,” he says. “And bring your ID. I understand that you have one of those now, somehow.” Not that Jonathan has been allowed to see it. Not that he’s trying to see it.

"Cool," Jay says. He grabs his jacket and grins over his shoulder at Jon. "Hey, thanks for all the chauffeuring. I'm not just trying to get a ride out of you."

Jon says, “You’re being disingenuous,” but not in a heated way, and waves Jay out the door.

Jay chatters away in the car--mostly about dogs, but eventually he settles down and says, "I know this is dumb. I just thought checking out dogs might cheer me up. Batman still has my dog."

Jon says, “Oh, I see.” He had thought it might be something else. But then, he hadn’t known about Jay’s dog. “Well, if seeing other dogs you can’t have will help.”

"Dunno," Jay says, "I thought going for a ride with you might help. You know, to see a thing we both like."

“I do like dogs,” Jon says. And then, because he still can’t tell if Jay remembers, “I’d thought I might get a dog, when we first--” Met is the wrong word. “--were being forced into pleasantries by Eddie.” 

"Yeah," Jay says, eyes lighting up. "That's why I figured you might want to come along. What do you think, how long will it take Eddie to come around on the dog thing? Maybe if we get a little one?"

“You’re the one coming along,” says Jonathan. “How small?”

"Like, very small," Jay says, straight-faced. "The size of an M&M. I don't know, you know Eddie better than I do."

“M&M,” says Jonathan. “Can’t call it that.”

"Why?" Jason asks.

“I object to the content,” says Jonathan. “Caspian maybe.”

"Oh shit," Jay says. "We're gonna get a dog."

“Don’t get over-excited,” says Jonathan. Jay getting a dog or Jon getting a dog would be one thing, but getting one dog between them will be too much trouble later on. “We’ll look at them. Like you said.”

"Yeah, definitely," Jay says. "I just wanted to get out and do something together."

“Oh,” says Jonathan. “Well, that’s nice. You could have said that. I would have gone.”

Jay nods. "Cool. Next time I'll say that." He never seems terribly bothered by anything, or at least he's very good at seeming unbothered.

Jon has a sudden urgent feeling, which he doesn’t want to examine and doesn’t want to feel. He clears his throat. “Right here,” he says, and turns into the shelter’s long drive.

Jay is quiet until they're inside, and he's still walking quite stiffly. Then he says, "We can find a dog for you. For if you get sick of letting us take up your office. You could put a dog in there instead."

“You consider that a fair exchange?” says Jon.

Then the attendant looks up from her beat up clipboard and says, “Oh, Jonathan! Hey, what happened?”

Jay looks at Jon, startled. "Oh, you come here a lot?"

“He’s one of our best dog walkers,” says the attendant. Lucy.

Jonathan says, “I was in an accident. It’s all right now, but thank you for asking.”

"What," Jay says, "You can just come here and walk the dogs? I didn't even know that." He doesn't sound at all surprised that Jonathan does.

“At lots of shelters,” says Lucy. “You must not be here for that, then.”

“My friend wants to look,” says Jon. “He’s considering adopting.” He can feel how cowardly it is.

"We just want to look for right now," Jay says, looking sideways at Jon.

“Come on in,” says Lucy. “If you change your mind about just looking, we can put dogs on hold for 24 hours.” 

Jonathan smiles at her, and leads the way back into the kennels. There are a couple of familiar faces here, but mostly dogs he’s never seen before.

"I can't believe you get to just come and walk the dogs," Jay says. "That's awesome. You do all kinds of cool stuff."

“Me?” Jonathan says. “Everyone does things.” It occurs to him that he’s never brought Eddie here, or talked about coming here, and that it’s vulnerable to do so in a way he didn’t mean.

"Some people do stupid things, though," Jay says. "Hey, this guy." He makes a beeline for a squat, square-headed, muddy brown dog.

“You did say pit bull,” says Jon, and then wonders, on top of his previous unease, if he’s supposed to remember Jay saying that he liked them best.

The look Jay gives him is luminous. "Yeah," Jay says. "Yeah, exactly. Best dogs. Probably not for Eddie, though, so neither one of us can get him."

“Of course,” says Jon. “Although I could simply show you both out and change the locks. If I preferred the dog.”

"Yeah," Jay says, scanning the room and pointing at another dog, fairly similar to the first, only with white patches. "How's that going, us being around?"

“It will be better when I’m not working from home,” says Jon. “Why don’t you meet this one if you’re just going to pick the same thing over and over?”

"Rude," Jay says, but not like he really means it. "Yeah, I want to meet that one."

Jon says, “Which one? This one? If you can never get into the city without me I don’t know why you’d like it here.”

"The brown one," Jay says. "I don't need to be in the city all the time. And there are buses; I'm not a total invalid anymore. And I like it here. So. It's a trade-off."

“Well,” says Jon. “If it’s working.” He glances up at the ugly drop-tile ceiling. “You have to ask at the front. I’m browsing.”

"Gonna," Jay says. He disappears to the front and then spends about ten minutes ignoring Jon and playing with the square dog. Finally he comes back over and says, "Any luck?"

“All dogs are good dogs,” says Jon. “Except maybe yours, if Batman has him.”

"No, he's really good," Jay says. "So, do you like that square dog? Want to pet him?"

“He’s lovely,” says Jon. His eyes fall on something very foolish. “Oh, hello, there.”

"That dog," Jay says, "is not square."

“No,” says Jon. The color and movement both caught his eye. It’s a foxlike little pomeranian, not as glossy and fluffy as you see in photos, and it’s rushing from one side of its kennel to the other on three tiny legs. 

"Not a real dog," Jay says skeptically. "Man, look at it go, though."

Jon leans in to read its placard. “Her,” he says. “Her name is Blossom. Right now.”

Jay wrinkles his nose. "She does _not_ look like a Blossom. Well, if you get her, there'll be room for her _and_ us."

“You don’t know that,” Jon says. “She might take over the whole house. If she can climb stairs.”

"I'll carry her up and down," Jay says. "You gotta keep me around just for that. You know, for when you're working but she wants to come up and see you."

Jonathan looks away from the dog, straight at Jason. “Are you anxious?” he says.

Jay rubs the back of his neck. "Well, yeah, kind of," he says. "Eddie doesn't really like to talk about things. So I don't know what they're thinking, and I don't know what you're thinking…"

Jon looks back at the dog. “Well,” he says. “You’re not on a countdown. Unless Eddie already has plans.”

"I think Eddie would be happy to stay forever," Jay says, cautiously lowering himself into a crouch outside the dog's kennel. "Hey, Blossom."

Jonathan doesn’t answer that. The dog hops over to the bars, sniffs Jay’s hand and then jerks away. It doesn’t mean anything. Shelter dogs are like that, no matter how they turn out later. Blossom’s nose is small and damp and her eyes are bright. If you brushed her and improved her diet, she would probably look better. Right now she’s a little matte and thin.

Jay looks up at Jon. "This is going to be a good dog," he says gravely.

Jonathan kneels down and lets Blossom come over and lick his fingers. “She’s already a good dog. But yes, I’m sure she’ll do better once someone--why are you looking at me like that?”

"Come on," Jay says. "We're gonna get this dog and keep it and it's gonna be our dog. And then we'll be happier and she'll be happier."

Jon feels something that isn’t comfortable. He says, “Wait.”

"What?" Jay says, looking stubbornly at the dog.

“Why?” says Jon. “What do you want?”

Jay gets to his feet carefully and shoves his hands in his pockets. "You know. I want this. Living in the fucking suburbs with you. It's not a trick or something."

It’s not a complete answer, but Jonathan has been known, occasionally, to be a coward. And what he’s being offered, he wants. 

“Eddie doesn’t get a say in any of this?” he says.

"I mean, we could ask," Jay says. "I think we _should_ ask. Make them commit to something for once. But I can't imagine they don't want that."

“Funny,” says Jon. “Considering.” He looks down at Blossom. He forgot to take his hand away, and she’s pressing her tiny teeth into his thumb. “She’s a very nice dog.”

"We should talk to Eddie," Jay says. "About the dog, but not just about the dog. Look, they love puzzles, but just speaking for myself, I don't."

Jon reluctantly pulls his hand away and straightens up.

“So what do you want?” he says. “The dog? A roommate?”

Jason glances around. The shelter is pretty empty this early. "I want, you know, you."

“Oh,” says Jon. This is no good, because he can’t just drive away and leave Jay here. He says, “But also the dog?”

"Oh yeah," Jay says, "Definitely the dog. She's not just a metaphor, she's awesome."

Jonathan smiles. “We should take her out,” he says. “To be sure.” Then he frowns and says, “I’m not a dog.”

"No," Jay says quickly, "Next time I'll be the dog. Seems better. You can be a grasshopper or something."

Jon frowns. “You are so odd.” He glances back at Blossom, suddenly worried that between here and the front desk, someone else will take her away. He double checks for an ADOPTED tag, but there’s not one. “I’m going to the front,” he says. “So we can meet her better.”

"I'll stay here to keep an eye out," Jay says without having to be asked.

Jay, Jon knows immediately, will lie and tell anyone who approaches that they’ve already adopted her and paid and everything and are just waiting for a crate. It’s sufficiently reassuring. Jon says, “Very good,” and goes up to the front, where Lucy is directing a mother and daughter to the puppy room. 

She says, “You left your friend behind.”

“Yes,” says Jon. “We’d like to look at Blossom. No one’s--claimed Blossom? Have they?”

“Not yet,” says Lucy. “She’s only been here a few days. People think she’s cute and then get nervous about her medical issues.”

Jon says, “I don’t think we’re nervous about that.”

“Are you thinking of taking her?” says Lucy.

“We should probably meet her first,” says Jon. 

They go back together and Lucy lets Blossom out and clips her leash on. Lucy prances, not very high hops because of her missing front leg, but enthusiastic ones. She keeps up well as they go up through the front and into the little play yard where walks usually start.

“Let me know when you’re done,” says Lucy. “If it makes any difference, I’d approve you for her. I know how you are with the dogs.”

“Thank you,” says Jon, but he’s looking at Blossom. 

"She might be okay on stairs," Jay says. "She's a speed demon." He looks at Jon. "This is okay, right? I'm not being too pushy? Because I have absolutely no idea how you feel about me."

Jon says, “No, it’s--it’s fine.” He swallows. It’s fine. There’s Eddie, though, and Jon doesn’t know enough. It could be a mistake to say anything else. He doesn’t want to have done all this and ruin it by asking for the wrong things. He tests the waters, and then picks up the little wriggling dog into his arms. She is soft and light and her breath beats eagerly against his ear. 

“We should put her on hold,” he says. “We should talk to Eddie.”

Jay nods. "Yeah. Let's do that. Smart call." He smiles at Jon, confident and a little hopeful.

“All right,” Jon says. He doesn’t get up, though. It’s hard to stop petting the dog.

"C'mon," Jay says, "Let's let 'em know we might want her." He sticks by Jon's elbow as they walk back inside with the dog.

It feels right, so Jon tries not to relax into it too much. Lucy smiles, and Jon says, “We’re done, but we’d like to put a hold on her.”

“We can do that!” says Lucy. “That’s really great. We have your information on file, do you need to change anything?”

“I don’t think so,” says Jon. “Oh--my household.”

“Oh, you can just do a form, then,” Lucy says.

He feels himself flush as Lucy takes out the fresh sheet of paper and he starts filling it in. Jay is watching him. “Here,” he says, passing the paper over. “You can do your name and number.” _I won’t look_ feels like a very strange thing to want to say to someone who’s just said all the things that Jay has. Also strange in front of a shelter attendant. He doesn’t say it.

Jason is pink, too. "Cool," he says. "Thanks." He scribbles on the form and then, instead of handing it back to Lucy, hands it back to Jon.

Jon looks down and reads it carefully and hands it over to Lucy.

“We’ll call,” he says. 

**EDDIE**

When Eddie gets home and neither Jon nor Jay is there, they panic for a second. What bad thing could have happened? It could be a lot of different bad things. They frantically check the house before finally looking at their texts and seeing one from each of them, saying they went out together and they'll be back soon. Oh. Weird, but not terrifying.

Eddie's heart has barely had a chance to stop pounding when the door opens and Jon and Jay come in, apparently not hurt, apparently in good moods.

"Next time leave a note, too!" Eddie says from the couch.

Jay looks about to say something, and then turns it around and says, “Sorry, we can.”

“If we’d told you where we were,” says Jon, “you would just have objected.”

"Where _were_ you?" Eddie asks, shaking the phone at him. "You didn't say." They can't imagine a lot of places Jay and Jon would both go that Eddie wouldn't.

Jon tilts his head up. “The dog shelter,” he says. “Looking at dogs.”

"Oh," Eddie says. Dogs. But because of who Eddie is, they're mostly not thinking about how they feel about dogs. They're mostly looking for clues. The way Jon said it first. The fact that they went together. The fact that they're ganging up on Eddie. Those are very good things.

Another very good thing, maybe, is the way they exchange a glance when Eddie says “Oh.”

“Dogs aren’t your thing,” says Jay. “I know.”

"I know they're yours," Eddie says. They address this to Jon, too. "But I've been chased by way too many of them. They make me nervous."

“Blossom will not attack,” says Jon.

"What is _Blossom_?" Eddie asks. They're imagining something twice the size of Batman's horrible dog. What have Jon and Jay been _doing_?

“I took pics,” says Jay. “C’mere.”

"Okay, fine," Eddie says. They come over and look at Jay's phone. "Okay," they say after a second. "That's a smaller dog than I was picturing. Does it--? It's got no leg."

“Excuse you,” says Jay. “She’s got three.”

“We’ll need to find a good groomer,” says Jon.

"So you two just went and made this decision without asking me?" Eddie says, but not like they're angry. They're not angry. Just--amazed. Leaving Jon and Jay alone together keeps not being a disaster.

“No,” says Jay. “We didn’t bring her _home_. She’s just on hold.”

"Saying no now would make me a monster," Eddie says. They take the phone from Jay to get a better look at the dog. She's _really_ little. If she jumped, she'd only come up to their knees, probably. And honestly, they've been somewhat resigned to the dog idea since they saw Jay with Ace.

“True,” says Jay. “Did you know--” He glances at Jon and stops mid-sentence.

"What?" Eddie says. That's it, they're definitely going out alone more often.

“Well, nothing,” says Jay. “But do you mean it about getting her?”

“We could all visit first,” says Jon. He sounds--not urgent, not yet, but like he’s trying not to let something through. It’s so hard to do that with Eddie, though. They see through most people, and they know Jon so well.

"I'll visit," Eddie says. "But she's really small. I mean, I wouldn't be _scared_ of her. So--whose dog would she be?" Testing, testing, without having the guts to really commit to the conversation.

Jay looks at Jon and Jon looks at nothing. Jay says, “Our dog, right? Each get a paw.”

"Oh," Eddie says thickly. "Yeah." That's so fucking nice.

“Eddie,” says Jon abruptly. “I need to talk to you.”

Eddie truly hates those words, but they don't usually come from Jon, and it's important, so they make themself nod. "Got it," they say. "Uh--where?"

“My--” says Jon, and then seems to remember where everything is situated. “Upstairs,” he finishes. 

"Okay," Eddie says. They hand the phone back to Jay and head upstairs, feeling like a little kid in trouble. Except they're an adult who's trying to make something work, so they need to suck it up and do this.

Jon shuts them into his bedroom-office and stares at Eddie, leaning with both hands against the doorknob.

“I need to talk to you,” he says again, like maybe he didn’t imagine how to handle anything past this moment.

"Yes," Eddie says, agitated. "What? Yes?" Is this the point at which all of their careful testing and obfuscation falls apart into something unworkable?

Jon makes half a gesture, something anxious and directionless, and says sharply, “Well, don’t start like that, Eddie, I’m trying to do something.”

"I know," Eddie says, "But I don't know what you're trying to do." They want so badly not to play stupid games here. They have to get this right this time.

Jon hangs onto that, staring back at Eddie for a few long seconds before he says anything. “When you left,” he says.

 _Oh no_ , Eddie thinks. They want anything besides to go back there. It was such a horrible time, and they were part of the reason it was horrible. They nod a little, encouraging Jon to keep going.

“You said several things,” says Jon. _Said_ is a soft word for what happened. It seems like he’s parceling this out as carefully as he can. Trying to keep going, and to stay on top. 

"Yeah," Eddie says painfully. "I know. People say things, in those situations." _Break-ups_ , they mean, but it hadn't felt like that. It had felt like fleeing while they had the chance.

“No,” says Jon. “You meant some of it. And I--did some of it.”

"Yeah," Eddie says, "Harvey did a fucking fantastic job stirring us up against each other. But I don't mean it _now_."

“You don’t understand,” says Jon. Eddie watches him collect himself, the way he has to over and over when he’s stressed. “Not Harvey. Me. I hurt you. I’m not only a puppet.”

"Oh," Eddie says. "I know." Jon is the Scarecrow. Or he was. He hurts people, including Eddie. "I hurt you, too, though," Eddie says.

“That’s not-- _fine_ ,” says Jon. “Yes. You’re awful. Stop turning it around like that.”

"That relationship was awful," Eddie says. "Everyone in it was awful. Especially Harvey, obviously, but it brought out the worst in all of us. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because this isn't that."

“And you just forgive everything?” Jon says. “Like that? I didn’t even apologize.”

Eddie doesn't really trust apologies. Harvey apologized enough times. "I know," they say. "But you came around and you were better. Look, do you want me to say we can never be together again? Because fuck that, I don't want to say that!"

Jon doesn’t answer at first. Then he says, “Eddie, is that what you want?”

Eddie gathers their courage and looks Jon in the eye. There's no way to say this sideways, no game or puzzle that would be fair. "Yes!" they say. "I want you!"

Jon breathes slowly in and lets it out. He isn’t looking at Eddie, but then he does. “How are we supposed to do that?” he says. “If it’s back there, all the time? If we can’t trust one another?”

"We could stop pretending it's okay, or it didn't happen, and just talk about it," Eddie says. Not that Jon was doing that. They were doing that. Their heart is pounding in their ears, because now that they've said this much, this has to work. Nothing else will be an acceptable outcome.

“It won’t go back?” Jon says. “I won’t hurt you, or him? You won’t get tired of--I _know_ what I’m like,” he finishes in almost a snarl. But he looks frightened, not angry. “I can’t--I can’t be a thing again, Eddie. Not to myself, or to you. I can’t go back. I can’t do it twice.”

"No," Eddie says fiercely. "I promise. We're both different now, and Jay isn't Harvey. That--it was never as good as this is already. We were never as good as we are now."

“I don’t want to be alone,” says Jon. 

"I'm never going to leave you alone again," Eddie says.

It’s like something has been burying Jon alive and the words pull him free. Jon doesn’t cry--he gets hit, he acts out, he loses touch, he goes down, but he doesn’t cry. Not even when they found him at the Iceberg. Not even after the bridge. Suddenly, though, it’s Eddie’s Jon standing there, neat, but with dog hair on him, good posture, but trembling, and his eyes grow brighter and brighter until it spills over. Eddie didn’t even know he could. 

Jon says, “Don’t. I know his name. You don’t have to go.”

"Oh," Eddie says. "Oh my god." Jay is so perfect, too, oh god. "Come here." They pull Jon into a hug, gripping his skinny shoulders desperately. Jon hugs them back, his face turned against Eddie’s neck. He mumbles something Eddie doesn’t hear, but then tightens his grip, like the words didn’t matter. 

Eddie holds on and holds on. They're not going to be the first to let go this time. "Hey," they whisper eventually. "Jon, I love you, it's okay. I'm here."

Jon pulls back a little. “Oh,” he says, a little stuck-up. “Am I supposed to say that too?”

"Yes," Eddie says firmly.

“Oh,” says Jon. “Well I do love you. And I like Jay. Please stop looking at me like that.”

"No," Eddie says, and suddenly they're crying a little bit, too. They hug Jon again, tightly, and then finally let him breathe. "We're stupid," they say. "It's all okay now."

Jon smiles. He says, “Okay.”

**Jon**

Jon’s first inclination is to never go downstairs--he’s done what he’s supposed to--but Eddie grabs his hand and makes a beeline, so he doesn’t get to indulge that. When they come out at the bottom of the stairs, Jay is slouched back comfortably on the couch, fiddling around on his phone. He looks up, looks them over, smiles.

“So we’re getting a dog?” he asks.

“Don’t be euphemistic,” says Jon.

Eddie laughs. "Sometimes people in Gotham don't know another way to be, Jon." They smile back at Jay. "That's a yes," they say.

Jay brightens. “Oh,” he says. “Great. Do we...should we go now? Or--” He turns pink. “--I mean, do you mean yes to the dog _and_ yes to--things?”

“We’ll date,” says Jon. He keeps it measured, but hearing the words come out of his own mouth sends a dizzy wave up from his chest into his head. 

Eddie is beaming. "We'll date, and we'll get pastries and takeout and yeah, dogs, if we have to. And we don't have to leave."

Pastries and dogs. That sounds all right. It does not sound overwhelming. Jon reassures himself with that for a moment, and then thinks that, actually, he’d like to be overwhelmed. He’s ready to be glum, because it feels like they’re organizing themselves into domesticity already, without the rest of it, and maybe they’ll call it dating but never come close. Never touch him. Never leave the room on the other side of the hall. But then he looks up.

Jay--Jason--isn’t answering Eddie. He’s looking at Jon. Jon thinks he’s waiting for Jon to see him. Jon stands a little straighter and flicks through a dozen things he could say and ruin the moment. Instead he picks what he thinks is the right thing. 

“You don’t have to leave,” he says. “You can even come closer.”

Eddie makes a little noise in the back of their throat. "Fuck, finally," they say.

Still, that fear, which Jon swallows down. What does he want? What’s being left up to him?

Jay says, “Good. I will. But hang on, I’m just going to call the shelter and let them know we’re coming back for Blossom in a couple hours.” Before either of the others can say anything, he gets up and lets himself out the back door (still, with the cracked window). 

Jon sorts through this, and then says, “Ah. A nice boy.”

"One of us should be," Eddie says cheerfully. They're vibrating with energy, though; Jon can feel it from here.

“I think he left so we can kiss,” says Jon, just to be clear. “I think he’ll come back in a minute, and we need to have kissed by then.”

"Oh," Eddie says, and they move toward Jon as if drawn by strings. They lean up to kiss him, curling one hand around the back of his neck and pressing their whole body against him.

Jon doesn’t know what he expected, but this is quieter and easier than that. Most of the leftover tension and uncertainty pent up inside him dissipate, like fog rolling off. When he leans back, Eddie looks sleepily hungry. 

“There,” says Jon. “Was that good?”

"I missed your kisses," Eddie says, sounding a little dazed. "They're _so_ good."

“Well,” says Jon, quirking a smile. “I’m good for something.”

"A lot of things," Eddie says seriously, then they look straight at Jon and it becomes a come-on.

Jon laughs. “All right,” he says. 

There’s a banging on the back door, a warning, probably, and then Jay comes back through it.

“They’re open until seven,” he says. “I told her we’d be back in a few hours.” He looks between them. There’s not a lot of between to look. “It seems like we’re good?” he says.

“Yes,” Jon says. 

“Oh, good,” says Jay, and crosses the room in a few short strides. Jon is only surprised for the first second. After that, he plummets. Jay is strong and fearless and feels like no one Jon has ever kissed, and if Jon is going to have anything, he wants _everything_ , immediately.

Eddie makes a little noise, watching then. Then they say, "Can we go in the bedroom, _please_."

“Traditional,” Jon mutters, just on one side of snidely maybe.

"Come on," says Jay, grinning. For a moment Jon thinks he’s going to hold Jon’s hand on the way up the stairs. If someone does that, Jon will just leave, or explode, he doesn’t know which. He pushes past Jay and swings his bedroom door open, and reaches back to yank Eddie through. 

Eddie gives a little yelp and stumbles against Jon, clinging to his shirt. Their hands are hot through the fabric. "Want you," Eddie says.

Jon tries not to laugh, because Eddie will absolutely hate it if he does. But Eddie gets a certain way when they’re in bed. It’s undignified and sweet and it disappeared a long time before Eddie did.

“I have no idea how to have a three-way,” Jay says cheerfully, flinging his jacket against the floor (it doesn’t belong there) (it doesn’t matter) (he’ll pick it up later). 

Jon says, “Well, keep doing what you’re doing. That would be a start.”

Eddie grabs Jay's wrist and pulls him into a kiss, looping their arms around his neck. "See?" they say. "Easy."

“Mm,” says Jay. Differently. Still comfortable. He and Eddie don’t get _couply_ when Jon is around, because of all of the things that are true about the three of them. So Jon didn’t know. Now he’s been touched once--just once--and he starts to understand.

“Easy,” he says. “Yes. It helps if you pick a target.”

“Oh,” says Jay. “Yeah, that makes sense.” His eyes drift from Eddie to Jon, and back to Eddie again. Same page. So easy. 

Jon says, “You take their clothes off, then.”

Eddie's eyes meet Jon's, electric. They press up against Jay, making it hard for him to get at their clothes until he keeps them still with his hands. When he pulls their shirt off, they give a little sigh.

Jon takes a breath, just to control it. “That’s better,” he says. To himself mostly. He leaves Jay to do what he’s asked, and pulls things out of drawers, and pushes pillows around until everything feels right, and gets so dizzy he can’t completely see what he’s doing. He can hear clearly enough that his hands start to shake. 

“Jonathan,” says Jay. “Turn around.”

Jon does.

Eddie is breathing fast, now down to just their briefs. They're flushed and bright-eyed and looking straight at Jon while gripping Jay's arm.

For a second, Jon can’t breathe at all. He certainly can’t speak. He goes over, and takes Eddie’s jaw in his hand, and kisses them. He doesn’t stop when he pulls them to his bed, with Jason trailing behind, one hand in Eddie’s.

Eddie scrambles into bed, holding onto both of them. They wrap one leg around the back of Jon's knee and pull him into a kiss, biting and sucking. Jon trips into place over them, breathless and starving. There’s a soft noise--Jay’s shirt hitting the floor--and Jay says, “Ed, his turn.” His hands slip under Jon’s shirt and stay there, hot against his skin.

Eddie wriggles under Jon, restless as always, pulling him down into another kiss. Their bare knee presses between his legs and their fingers tangle in his hair.

“You again,” Jon says. He can’t stop staring at them. He hasn’t seen them like this, especially like this and happy, in so long he can’t date it. 

Eddie makes a small noise and pulls Jon down so his face is buried in the crook of their neck. Jon can hear Eddie kissing Jay over his shoulder, and he can feel Eddie's hands on his hips, pushing at his pants. It makes him burn. He wants to fight free and climb out of his clothes, but he stays here, exactly here, caught between them until his arms start to shake. A noise escapes his throat.

Eddie reaches up and helps pull Jon's shirt off, and Jon feels Eddie's hand grip Jay's for a second. Then they're both back to touching him again, Eddie's hands flying down to undo Jon's pants.

“I’m not,” says Jon, but Jay says, “You’re great. You’re okay?”

“Yes,” says Jon. He feels slowed down and sped up, both at once. 

“Cool,” says Jay. “Let’s fuck Ed.”

Jon can’t help laughing. This isn’t like anyone before. He is ravenous and new and he is going to have what he wants.

Eddie is loud. Eddie is always loud, but when Jon and Jay touch them, none of the sounds they make are pained and they keep catching Jon's eye and smiling. They flush bright red when Jon pushes inside them, and then Jon can barely think about anything. He could be embarrassed that Jay is here, too, but it isn’t embarrassing. It’s exciting--confusing--good. Necessary. 

Jay reaches around to jerk Eddie off. 

"Oh my god," Eddie says, their voice distorted by emotion. "Oh my god, oh my god--" Then they're full-on sobbing before they even come, and when they finally do, their whole body bucks under Jon.

Jon leans his forehead against Eddie’s chest, listening to their heartbeat, and their quick, slowing breaths as they sink into Jon’s pillows. Jon drinks it in, but he’s still on fire. Jay, hands on Eddie, says, “Hey,” so Jon looks up. Jay smiles at Jon. “Out,” he says. “We’ve got you.”

"Me too, I'm helping," Eddie says fuzzily.

“Good,” says Jon sharply. Jay laughs and pulls Jon onto his knees, turns Jon’s head to kiss him so his whole body stretches.

Eddie keeps touching Jon while Jay kisses him, their hands still frantic on his chest, his stomach. When is the last time? When is the last time Eddie touched him, without being angry? Without competing? Without being afraid? Jon chokes noises into Jay’s mouth. 

“That’s all right,” says Jay quietly. “Turn around. Eddie’ll hang onto you.”

Jon doesn’t want them to know, not even in this moment, how much he wants that. But he does turn around, until his bare back is slick against Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him. He wants to laugh, or sob. He’s so hard it almost hurts. There’s no dignity, but if Jon is being honest, there almost never is. 

Jay grins at them both and wraps his hand around his cock. “Watch,” he says, and goes down on Jon so slick and fast that Jonathan sees stars. 

Afterwords, when they’re all stuck together and Jon is trapped between them, he waits to feel afraid. He does want out, but only out of this sticky pile. He likes his space. But he’s afraid of nothing. And these two, despite everything, are nothing to be afraid of. So he lets them murmur and cuddle and take a thousand years to get up and _wash_ , because he isn’t above any of this, and just now--it’s nice. To be in the middle.

**Eddie**

Jay is nervous. He’s pretending not to be, mostly, but despite everything they’ve done to make this Jason Todd a different one from Bruce Wayne’s Jason Todd, and both of them different from Red Hood--well. Eventually someone finds out every secret. Eddie can tell he’s anxious because he made microwave popcorn for the press conference, and then dropped half of it on the floor. Blossom liked that; Jon didn’t. Now all four of them and the backup popcorn are on the couch, though, watching the livestream of nothing before Wayne walks out.

“Do you think he’ll come dressed as Batman?” Jon says. “It will be very funny if no one believes him.”

“Not that funny,” says Jay.

Eddie has been imagining different ways this press conference could go. They know how they'd handle a reveal like that, but Batman has never done things the way Eddie would.

Then Wayne comes out on stage. He's not dressed as Batman; he's wearing one of his expensive suits and looks about as unlike Batman as anyone could.

He looks right into the camera. "Hi, everyone," he says.

"The worst," Eddie whispers.

“Shut up,” Jay says, not mean, but a little agitated. 

Jon’s arm snakes past Blossom (on his lap) and over Eddie. He places his hand on Jay’s knee.

On the screen, Wayne smiles at the crowd. "I guess you're probably wondering what I've gotten myself into this time, and why I need to let you know about it. Well, it's a long story. And I won't bore you with the details. I'm sure there'll be time for that in days to come. But what I really came here to say is, I want to help Gotham. I've put a lot of thought into what that looks like. And it doesn't look like what I have been doing." He takes a deep breath and the smile drops. "What I have been doing," he says, "for years now, is going out as Batman."

The clamor is instantaneous.

“They’re all going to think he means he’s a copycat,” Jon says, moving his hand to take a handful of popcorn out of the bag on Eddie’s lap. “Copybat.”

“Christ,” says Jay. 

Eddie's heart is pounding. This is what Batman gets, they think, for making fun of them so many when they reveal their clever plans. He's just the same, really.

Wayne is holding up his hands for silence. When he finally gets it, he says, "I invented Batman. I invented him the night my parents were murdered, but I didn't start actually embodying him until about ten years later. But I've never stopped since then. Until now."

The response this time is different. Noisy, but different.

“Please don’t be embarrassing,” Jay says.

“He will be embarrassing,” says Jon. “Look at him.”

Blossom sneezes and curls up in a ball on Jon’s lap.

"You can't even tell he's nervous," Eddie says, impressed. Wayne is calling for one question at a time.

"Before anyone asks," Wayne says, smiling again, "Yes, I did let the police commissioner know first."

“Look at his face,” says Jon. “Incredible.”

“Hah, yeah,” says Jay. 

Eddie darts a glance at Jay. "You okay?" Wayne is again trying to quiet the group of reporters enough to actually answer a question.

“Am I allowed to be nervous?” Jay says. “It’s not just going to change things for him, you know.” It’s going to change things for Jay, and all his friends from before. It’s going to change things for the three of them, and everyone they know. It could even (who knows?) change things for all the people who have been trying to make this city better for decades.

“The police must be very unhappy,” says Jonathan, sounding pleased.

“Well, some,” says Jay, distracted. Jonathan says, “Mm,” and hikes Blossom up to set her into Jay’s lap. Jay looks at the dog, then the screen, and then up at Eddie and Jon. 

“Okay,” he says. “He said. It. Let’s take the dog for a walk.” He smiles at them both, his hands gentle in Blossom’s fur. It seems like her name is going to stick.

"Perfect," Eddie says. They're going to dig up a recording of the press conference later, maybe when Jay and Jon are out somewhere together, and go over it in detail. The unraveling of the biggest riddle in Gotham is too satisfying for them not to spend some time with. But right now, Jay and Jon matter much more. Eddie locks the door when they leave. Blossom hops along almost as well as if she had four legs, darting ahead at the end of her leash. Eddie grabs Jay's free hand in one of theirs and Jon's in the other. It's going to be a whole new Gotham, and the three of them are always ahead of the curve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it is a WHILE since we did such a long fic! Thanks for sticking around to the end!!!!


End file.
